Nocturne
by Net Girl
Summary: One of Sam's visions leads the Winchesters back to Kansas, but nothing, and no one, is exactly what it seems.
1. Chapter 1

Rating: M 

Summary: One of Sam's visions leads the Winchesters back to Kansas, but nothing (and no one) is exactly what it seems.

Spoilers: Everything up to "Croatoan".

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Eric Kripke, Warner Brothers Television Productions, and their many, many well-paid lawyers. I am NOT making any money off this, nor am I trying to infringe on anyone's copyright. Believe that.

Authors' Notes: This is the first time I've written for _Supernatural_, so try to keep the "your characterization sucks!" comments to a minimum. I'm well aware it probably does. I always do the best I can with that aspect. This is also the first multi-chapter gen fic I've written in a coon's age. Forgive me if it's longer than usual. Also, any characters you don't recognize from the series are mine. Thanks to Amy and Bridget for giving me some initial feedback. You chicks are boss!

This story takes place between "Crossroad Blues" and "Croatoan".

Questions, Comments, Suggestions: Send to donnacsoprano76 AT yahoo DOT com. All flames are read, laughed at then deleted with extreme prejudice.

-

"Nocturne"  
By Net Girl

The terrified young woman sprinted down the darkened sidewalk, her destination unclear at the moment. From what little was illuminated by a pale half-moon and the street lamps, it was safe to assume she was in a suburban area. Not exactly the kind of place one might see such things as monsters, ghosts, demons and shadows ...

Her longish brown hair fluttered behind her; her dark eyes filled with fear as she glanced over her shoulder. It was coming closer. Gaining. She couldn't see it then, but she could feel it. A hand brushed over the rip in her fitted light blue t-shirt. She'd barely escaped it once already. Just barely. She hadn't any idea what "It" was, only it wanted to hurt her. Probably even _kill_ her.

Whimpering, she ran faster, headed for the only major building. As she neared it, she passed by a grounded marquee sign which read: 'Tonganoxie High School – Home of the Chieftans! WELCOME BACK!'. Once beyond it, she made a sharp left then a beeline for the main entrance of the school.

The metal double doors burst open with a loud clank and she skidded to a halt at the head of the main hallway, her worn sneakers squeaked against the freshly waxed linoleum tiling as she did. Frantic eyes looked down each of the halls to her sides, then straight up the main one which was lined with gray lockers. Behind her, the doors clicked shut and the only sound she could hear was her own panting.

Where could she hide? She needed help. No one was around – not a soul. New panic washed over her as, at the end of the main hall, the mysterious shadow materialized.

With a soundless scream, she bolted down the hallway to her left, her shoes squeaked loudly with each running step she took in the dead quiet halls of the building. She flew past a massive glass case filled with trophies and photos of athletic teams and other students from days gone by. Beyond that, handmade banners announced August 19th as the first day of the new year. Everything seemed so bright and optimistic despite what was happening.

"Help!" She'd yelled the word but it barely made a sound in her throat. The more she tried, the harder it was to hear herself.

At the end of the hall, she grabbed the metal handle of the next set of double doors. No matter how much she pushed and pulled, they refused to open. They sounded as though they were chained on the other side. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she finally gave up, her forehead touched the door as she leaned on it. Her shoulders shook as she softly sobbed.

"Please," she whispered as she stared at the floor. Tears splattered near her feet. "Someone ... help me."

She froze. Her eyes widened slight as she slowly lifted her head. The girl's lower lip trembled as she sense she was no longer alone in the hall. The fear, the adrenaline, the confusion welled up inside of her at the same moment. She had nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Finally, she whirled around to face the menace, head-on.

The featureless, practically formless, shadow extended a billowing tentacle towards her. She was petrified by the terror, left unable to move and made absolutely no attempt to flee as it wrapped around her throat. The pressure increased, soon it cut off her ability to breathe.

Her mouth opened but she didn't scream. She couldn't. There was only silence. Her hands clawed at the shadowy vise. To her horror, her hands only passed through it, settling on a gold chain around her own neck. Her eyes widened as she felt the life drain from her body. She could do nothing, except stare at the blackness before her. As the light went out from her eyes, her hands fell away from her throat and her arms swayed limply at her sides.

It was over.

The shadow dissolved. The girl's body, almost in slow motion, dropped to the floor. Her dead, glassy-eyed gaze stared up the hallway. The charm on the necklace she wore slipped down and dangled back and forth. The pale light in the building caught it at such an angle it appeared to glimmer, and made clear the single word it bore: "JEWEL".

-

"Sam! Hey, _wake up_!"

Sam Winchester's eyes opened suddenly. He blinked furiously for several seconds before he realized where he was – in the passenger's seat of his brother Dean's Impala. After another few seconds, he remembered to breathe and the rest of the world became real again. It was then he noticed his hand had the inside of his door and the bottom portion of the seat in a grip so fierce his knuckles had turned white.

"Sam."

A set of fingers snapped in front of his face. He looked over to Dean, who sat there with a half-baffled/half-concerned expression on his face. He seemed to wear it a lot lately.

"Are you all right?"

Sam blinked again and shifted in the seat. He unclenched his hands as he forced himself to relax. "Y-yeah," he uneasily replied. "I ... think so." He looked out of the window. It was late morning, maybe even afternoon. When they'd left Ellen's roadhouse it was around 8 in the morning. "I must've fallen asleep."

Dean nodded slightly, concerned with how disoriented Sam still was. "Uh-huh. Nightmares tend to happen then," he slowly said.

"Huh? Nightmares?" He looked to Dean. "What?"

"Dude, I had to pull over, you were flippin' out so bad." He waved a hand at the front windshield. "I tried to wake you up but you just ... wouldn't." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "What the hell were you dreaming about?"

This was a question Dean hated asking, especially where Sam was concerned. His weird dreams and visions always led them to something demon-related. Or someone. One of their more recent encounters brought them into contact with two brothers, both with the "power of persuasion". That didn't end well. For anybody. The only upside was they'd discovered at least one other kid like Sam, one who hadn't gone nuts after his powers manifested.

Sam used the thumb and forefinger of his casted arm hand to massage his temples. "There was a girl ... " He squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to remember anything from the dream. No, not a dream. This was a _vision_, in dream form. He hadn't experienced one like this in months. "It was dark outside, night time." Bits of it returned to him. "Something was chasing her. It ... killed her."

"Demon?"

His eyes opened as he dropped his hand down. "No. It was ... formless. Like a shadow."

"Like the shade that Meg chick used on us?"

Sam shook his head. "This was different. I've never seen anything like it before." He focused on the events of the vision, more of it returning as he did so. "It was strange. For some reason, she couldn't scream for help."

"You think the thing that killed her was responsible?"

He shrugged. "I don't think it was. Everything about the vision ... " He sighed as he shook his head again. "It was ... _off_." It was the middle of December, but the banner in the school suggested it was August. He looked to Dean. "I haven't had a vision in dream form in months. Why would one happen like that now?"

Dean sat back in the seat. Everything was weirder than usual since their father had died. Maybe not so much weirder for him than more difficult. A lot of shit happened in that hospital, almost all of it he wished he could forget. Especially one certain thing.

"There's something you should know ..."

He snapped back to the present before he could remember what his father had told him. Focus on the problem they had now.

"Any idea where we can find this girl? Or even who she is?"

Sam pressed his fingers to the right side of his head. He searched through the images of the vision for anything which might help. He settled on the glimmering charm around the girl's neck. "She had a necklace on -" He motioned to his own neck. "The kind with a person's name sort of embedded into it? Hers said 'Jewel'." He pushed the image away quickly. Her dead gaze disturbed him more than the first time he'd seen it.

Dean muttered a curse under his breath. "Jewel? That's all we have to go on?" He laughed a little, shaking his head. "You gotta be friggin' Veronica Mars to figure out these damned visions of yours, Sammy."

Sam glanced at Dean, uneasy about what he had to tell him. "That ... wasn't all of it." He'd recognized the school. As well as the name on the marquee outside of it. Tonganoxie. He wasn't sure how to drop this one on Dean. He knew exactly how his brother would react to it. "She's somewhere we've been more than once." Indirect, that was the way to go.

Dean's eyebrows lifted as he made a slight sweeping gesture with his hand. "And ... that would be ... where?"

Sam avoided eye contact with him. Instead, he opted to look out of the window at the endless expanse of nothingness which constituted central Nebraska. All of Nebraska, really. "It's not that far from here -"

"Just goddamn tell me already!" Dean impatiently snapped. He wasn't playing Twenty Questions; not when some girl was going to die and they already had so little to go on to find her.

"Tonganoxie, Dean," Sam shortly replied. He paused, he watched as Dean's expression went from surprise to something indecipherable. "Kansas. That's where she is."

Blank expression in place, Dean leaned back in the seat again. He was careful to avoid even glancing in Sam's direction. Still, he could feel Sam staring at him. "Really?" was all he could muster.

"Yeah." He knew how much Dean hated it there. Not the town itself, but the state as a whole. He'd never seen anyone go out of his way to avoid a place the way Dean did Kansas. Even moreso after their last trip home - to Lawrence - a little over a year ago.

Dean's hands kneaded the steering wheel as he continued to stare straight ahead. "Are you -sure-?" he asked after almost a full minute of complete silence. "You might just _think_ it's Tonganoxie -"

"I saw the high school, Dean," he said. "It's Tongie." He waited for a response. Something. Anything. After a few moments, he started to speak, but was cut short.

"Well." Dean turned over the engine and looked to Sam, one of those perfected fake smiles plastered on his face. "Guess we're headed south."

"Dean -" He was surprised by Dean's cell phone smacking him in the arm. "What are you - "

"Get Ash on the phone," he said, never taking his eyes off the road ahead. "We're gonna need his help to find out if anything weird's been goin' on there lately." He glanced at Sam. "Since we don't have your laptop. Told you surfing those porn sites would get you in trouble one day, Sam."

Sam picked up the cell phone, giving Dean one of those "looks". No matter what he said, Dean would never believe the virus which crashed his laptop didn't come from some porn site. Either way, they were without it until Ash did something. Whatever it was, it was beyond Sam's skills.

"Maybe we should -"

"We don't have time," Dean cut in, waving a hand at him, indicating for him to use the phone. "These visions usually happen pretty close to the actual thing, don't they? How it's been before." He leaned forward, looking up at the sky, then he shook his head. "We might not make it there before tonight."

"With the way you drive, we don't need to worry," Sam murmured as he searched through the list of numbers until he found Ellen's.

Dean's foot pushed the pedal almost to the floor, easing the car into a cruising speed of 90 miles an hour. He side-glanced at Sam, who'd seemed to get a hold of Ellen at least. With Sam no longer bugging him, Dean's mind went back to their destination.

Kansas. Tonganoxie wasn't more than fifteen minutes up the highway from Lawrence. Too close for his comfort. He glanced up at the sky again. Someone was in danger, though, he had to shove all of that crap to the side. He had more reasons than Sam knew for avoiding the whole area. None of them good. And Sam would never know about any of it if Dean had his way.

-

By the time the Impala pulled into the vacant parking lot of the high school, the sun had long since set. The school, and the nearby junior high, were outside of the city proper, away from the residential and business areas to the south. Only open land and scattered trees. Despite being located near a two-lane highway, the town of Tonganoxie, Kansas, was like most every other in the eastern part of the state. Big enough to warrant a high school, small enough for anyone with sense to bolt from when given the chance.

Dean scanned the area after he pulled into one of the parking spaces near the building itself. They wouldn't be noticed from the highway here. He saw the sign Sam had mentioned to him, it wasn't far away. From this spot, they could keep an eye out and not miss the girl and whatever it was that was supposed to kill her.

"We haven't been here in a long time," Sam quietly said as he looked out of his own window.

"Yeah. Forget what it's like around here," Dean replied, equally quiet. He sighed and settled back in the seat. "Guess we're waiting, huh?"

It was all they could do. Ellen promised to have Ash contact them as soon as he came back (wherever he was), but that was hours ago. No call. They had so little to go on, he wasn't sure how much help Ash would be, anyway. With nothing but a name to go on and no time, they couldn't attempt their own investigation.

Sam winced slightly as his head began to throb with a dull pain. His hands pressed against his temples as he shut his eyes. This had never happened before. An identical pain, yes, but it was always accompanied by one of the visions.

"Sam?"

His eyes opened and he found Dean watching him intently. "What?"

"You okay?"

"My head hurts, that's all," he answered in a dismissive tone. He winced again, drawing in a sharp breath at the same time.

"See anything?"

He shook his head.

Dean sighed, frustrated. "The _one_ time we could use a break and we've got nothin'." He snatched up his cell phone from the seat between them. "And where the hell is Ash? Ellen didn't say where he was? When he'd be back?"

"No. Just he'd left and said he'd be gone a few hours. She tried to get into his computer herself, but he has it password-protected. She couldn't even log onto the Internet." He rubbed his temples. The pain was becoming unbearable.

"Paranoid nutbag," Dean muttered as tossed his phone aside and looked out of his window. After a couple of minutes, he spoke again. "You know what this reminds me of?" He shifted his attention to Sam. "That thing in Basehor. The abandoned house?"

Sam nodded as he continued to massage his head. He wondered what was wrong with him. This was new, and new usually wasn't good where the demon was concerned.

Dean chuckled. "You ran outta there like you stole somethin'." He looked over to Sam again, grinning. "Never saw you move that fast before. _Ever_."

Sam dropped his hands down as he looked to him. "You know, I don't recall _you_ being the epitome of cool during that, either," he shortly said. Not only did he have this damn headache to contend with, but Dean was giving him grief over something that happened seven years ago. "I remember _you_ running straight to Dad."

"Because I had to bail _your_ ass out, that's why!" He drummed his fingers on the inside of the driver's side door. "You never did what Dad told you, man."

"And whose bright idea was it to chase it to the second floor, after Dad told us not to?" He lifted an eyebrow when Dean looked at him. "Then _you_ ran first, not me."

Dean scoffed. "You have your version, I have the truth."

Suddenly, the throbbing pain in Sam's head vanished. He blinked a few times. Just like that – he was fine. "It's gone," he said as he looked to Dean. "The headache. You think that's a good or bad sign?"

He didn't answer, simply focused on the school in front of them. His fingers continued to drum against the door. Something about this made him edgy. Edgier than usual. It was more than it being demon-related or even back in Kansas, so close to "home". Something was ... off. He couldn't figure out what, he just felt it.

Another twenty minutes passed by, with no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Just the sound of the occasional car driving by on the highway. In the driver's seat, Dean slumped behind the wheel, his eyes almost drifting shut before he forced them open again. His battle with his own exhaustion wasn't going well. They'd been up since four o'clock that morning. They'd wanted to get a jump on driving to another job in Pennsylvania.

Driving all of that way non-stop wasn't easy, either. Especially when he'd barely managed to ditch two separate cops two counties away who'd been after him for speeding. Didn't surprise him, though. Cops that far north didn't have anything better to do than lurk behind trees and chase speeders. They weren't gonna bust Dean Winchester. Not today. Or any day.

Sam noticed Dean struggling to stay awake. "I can keep watch," he offered. "Go to sleep."

He rubbed his eyes with the fingers of one hand and waved Sam off with the other. "I'm all right."

"You're no good if you're exhausted. When this thing shows up, I need you ready." He studied Dean closely. The weird behavior concerned him. It was almost as if Dean didn't want to fall asleep. "Is something bothering you?"

"Yeah. _You_ are," he snapped as he forced his eyes open again. He focused straight ahead. "Stare out the window, Sam, not at me."

"Something's been eating at you since we hit Leavenworth County," Sam went on, as though Dean had said nothing to him. "You wanna tell me what it is?"

Dean slid down further in the seat, sighing. "If my choices are sleeping or having some touchy-feely, hug your buddy chat about life with _you_, I'm takin' sleep." He shifted in place so his back was to Sam and his head lay at an odd angle against the back of seat. "Wake me if anything actually _happens_, okay?" he muttered.

Sam frowned slightly as he slouched on his own side of the seat and turned his attention to the school.

He should've been used to it by now – Dean's closed-off personality. He never wanted to talk about anything important, besides the job. The rest of the time he rattled on about women or the number of dive bars on any given stretch of highway. Since their last encounter with the demon, since he'd almost died a second time, Dean was worse about it.

He barely mentioned their father, and when Sam brought it up, he found a way to change the subject. They only had each other left now. In the past few weeks, they seemed more distant than when Sam was at Stanford. Then there was the way Dean looked at him lately, too. It'd started right after their father had died. He'd considered asking why but never did. He wouldn't get an answer, why waste his breath?

He looked down as he picked up Dean's cell. 11:45. Where the hell was this girl? Were they too late? Too early? He hated waiting, but without Ash or time to investigate this was their only lead. Frustrated, he tossed the phone onto the seat, planted his elbow on the door and rested his head in his hand. He thought about starting the car, just to run the heat a while.

August 19th, the banner in the vision had read. His gaze slid over to the grounded marquee, glowing dimly in the dark. 'Tonganoxie High School – Home of the Chieftans. HAVE A NICE BREAK!'. Why were minor things like that different from what he'd seen?

Beside him, Dean shifted and his head slid forward until it rested against the driver's side window. Just watching him sleep reminded Sam of how tired _he_ was. Even though he knew he had to stay awake, it wasn't long before his own eyes drifted shut.

-

Images of the mystery girl's murder flashed through Sam's mind in a rapid succession which culminated with his eyes flying open as he gasped. The faint echo of her quiet cry "Somebody ... help me ..." lingered even though he was wide awake.

As he relaxed, he looked outside of the car. The windows had fogged up, so he used a hand to wipe it clear. It was dark, yet the sky had taken on a different shade of black. Lighter. Morning was coming. He rubbed his eyes and turned in the seat. Dean was in the same position he'd been when Sam himself had drifted off.

"Dean ..." he whispered. He reached out to wake him but his hand froze. Nothing had really happened. Still, what were those flashes about? He pulled his hand back and got out of the car.

As he stood beside the car, he shoved his hands into his pockets. This was an unusually warm December, however, the coat he had on wasn't exactly the warmest thing. He searched the entire area. Nothing seemed different than before. Gently, he shut the door and walked towards the school. When he reached the marquee he stopped. In the dream, the girl had passed by here.

He turned left, ascended the four cement steps which led to the main entrance. A few safety lights were on inside of the building, the small rectangular windows in the doors glowed eerily because of it. He grabbed the door handles and pulled. They didn't budge. After he rattled it a few times, he let go. The doors were locked.

He flashed back to the vision. The girl had barreled through them with no problem. Puzzled, he leaned forward and peered through the left window. The school was empty, not a soul in sight. From what he could tell, it looked exactly as it did in the vision. His eyes narrowed when he noticed something which wasn't. The lockers, the ones in the main hallway, they weren't gray. They were bright red.

Sam didn't have a chance to wonder why that was, though. In the distance, he heard the distinct wail of police sirens. He turned and searched for the source. Soon, two police cruisers screamed by on the highway.

Back in the car, Dean was startled awake by the sirens. He lifted his head, his eyes still bleary with sleep, just in time to see police cruisers vanish south, into town.

"What the hell?" he murmured. He looked over his shoulder. "Hey, Sam -" He sat up straight when he didn't see Sam in the car. A second later, he jumped as the passenger's side door flew open and Sam leaned inside.

"Dean - "

"Christ, you scared ten years off of me!"

"Did you -"

Dean nodded as he wiped a hand over his face. "Yeah, I heard it. What do you think that's about?"

Sam glanced around. "It's almost 4:30 in the morning and nothing's happened." He shook his head a little. "Something's wrong, Dean."

"What do you mean, something's wrong?"

He glanced back at the school. The locked doors, the different colored paint on the lockers, the marquee, the time of year ... "It's – nevermind." Nothing everything was -perfect- in those visions. There had to be some explanation behind it.

"We should check out what's goin' on in town," Dean said. "It might be connected to why we're here."

"We _can't_ leave. It hasn't happened."

"Maybe just not _here_."

Sam slammed an open palm on the top of the car, which first caused Dean to jump then it quickly turned to anger. "I saw it happen _here_, Dean," he firmly stated. He pointed to the ground. "Here. She ran right by _this_ spot."

"What if your vision was wrong?"

Sam's hand, which was still on the top of the car, balled into a fist. He didn't want to even entertain the idea. It meant they sat there, while somewhere else in town a girl was murdered. "It was a _vision_. They happen just like I see them. You know that," he replied, his voice strained now.

"Fine. I'll go." Dean fished his keys out of his jacket pocket. "You can stay here. Just in case I'm wrong."

"So, what? You're _ditching_ me?" Sam stood straight as Dean got out of the car. He couldn't believe it – why didn't Dean trust him? He saw it happen at the high school. The commotion in town couldn't be related.

"No," he snapped as he went to the trunk then popped it open. "I'm not." He pulled out a duffel bag and tossed to Sam. He made no move to catch it and it landed on the ground, near his feet. After grabbing something else, Dean shut the trunk and stood there, one of the shotguns in hand. "You can handle being by yourself for ten minutes." He pitched the gun at Sam, who neatly caught it in his good hand. "_Can't_ you?"

His eyes narrowed. "Yes. I _can_," he tightly answered.

He watched Dean get back into the car. He barely had a chance to step back before Dean threw it into 'reverse' and pulled out of the parking space. A moment later, he raced out of the lot itself and onto the highway. Sam didn't take his eyes off the car until it disappeared in the same direction the police vehicles had.

"Goddamnit," he uncharacteristically swore, snatching the duffel from the ground at the same time. He scowled as he half-stormed back to the sidewalk. He wished he knew what in the hell was going on in Dean's head lately (as frightening as the prospect was). Whatever his problem, it was turning him into somebody Sam didn't know. And didn't want to know, either.

-

As Dean made his way to where all of the police and emergency vehicles had gathered, he wasn't surprised to see half of the residents gathered around. Most stood in the street or on the sidewalk just behind the yellow police tape which cordoned off a particular house from the others. It wasn't any different from any other on the street: a simple two story place which had a flaking paint job and two foreign compact cars no younger than the '80s parked in the driveway. His gaze shifted from the cars to the mailbox. 'MYERS'.

He scanned the crowd. Most of them were still in night clothes; a few others were dressed, most likely for an early morning at work. All of them had their eyes riveted to the three uniformed police officers speaking to a middle-aged man in a tired suit. Dean had been around enough police stations to know the look – this guy was Homicide.

"What do you think happened?" a young woman clutching her robe around her asked no one in particular.

"Who knows? 'Specially with that damned girl of Becky's," an older man replied with a snort. "Probably got herself into some trouble she can't get out of this time."

"Shut up, Bob," another woman snapped. "The coroner went inside. Obviously something bad's happened. And you're being an ass."

Dean looked back to the yard as the detective walked away from the uniforms. He wondered what the ass had meant about a girl being in trouble. His eyes narrowed as a stretcher was wheeled out of the house by two young men in black jackets, followed by an older woman. He didn't need to see the back of the coats. She was the coroner.

"Oh, my God," the second woman gasped, a hand flying to her mouth, once she saw the black bodybag strapped to the stretcher. Tears filled her eyes. "Oh, no ..."

The detective and the coroner stood near the back of the open medical examiner's van. They compared their notes as the two men loaded the stretcher into it. After a few seconds of deliberation with the man, the coroner nodded then pulled out a cell phone.

"Who is it?" someone else in the crowd breathed.

As if on cue, a distraught woman, probably in her early 40s, her open robe fluttering behind her as she ran towards the van, screamed, "_NO_! Please! _She can't be dead_!" Her legs buckled when the detective caught her before she could reach it. She wailed, the kind Dean had heard so many times before, but it never failed to curdle his blood. "No! Please ... "

"Mrs. Myers, I'm sorry," the detective said as he tried to calm her.

"She's my baby! She can't be gone!" She struggled with the man and broke down into hysterical sobs as the coroner's people slammed the van doors shut. "_JEWEL_! No!"

Jewel.

Dean remembered the name on the necklace Sam saw in the vision. "Shit," he whispered.

He slowly backed away from the crowd, keeping a close eye on the onlookers. A homicide, and here he was – a stranger in town. That was the last thing they needed, for one of these locals to notice him and maybe give his description to the cops. Anyone from out of town would be a suspect.

Once clear of the crowd, he was glad he was forward-thinking enough to park on the next street over. He hadn't expected this mess to be a part of the job. But, he wasn't surprised. Everything had been left of normal from the second Sam woke up from that damned dream.

Sam. He'd forgotten about Sam still at the school, so certain this Jewel girl was killed there. He couldn't blame him. The visions had never been wrong. Until now. The only thing right so far was the victim. And he was stuck dropping this on him.

"Shit," he swore again as he slammed his car door. He hesitated before sliding the key into the ignition then started the engine. "Ah, Sammy," he sighed, shaking his head.

-

Sam tapped the butt of the shotgun on the concrete step underneath his feet. He'd been sitting there for almost 20 minutes. In the east, the sky grew lighter as dawn approached. She'd never appeared. Or the shadow. And now Dean was missing. Ten minutes, he'd said.

"Frustrated" wasn't a strong enough description of how he felt then. Not even close. Never had a vision simply _not_ happened. Sure, some events unfolded differently because of his and Dean's involvement, but never not at all. Or maybe it wasn't even that night. Prior, when he'd had the visions in dream form, it was days before the actual event.

The familiar sound of Dean's car snapped him out of his thoughts. Slowly, he rose to his feet as Dean damn near turned the corner on two wheels. The tires briefly screeched as he pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance, where Sam was.

The passenger's side door opened and Dean looked up at Sam. "Get in the car."

"But what - "

"Just _get in the car_, Sam!" he repeated. His tone was almost identical to the one their father used when he wasn't in the mood for questions. He beckoned with a hand. "C'mon. We have to get out of town."

Sam tossed the duffel into the backseat as he got in. He'd barely managed to close the door before Dean hit the gas. "Is there a reason you're driving like a maniac?"

"That thing in town?" Dean said as he pulled onto the highway. He quickly glanced at Sam. "It wasn't good."

"What happened?"

"You know the girl you _swear_ you saw die at that school?" He checked the rear-view mirror. No cops, no other cars. So far, so good. "She's dead. She was murdered in her own house."

Sam stared at him, stunned. He almost couldn't comprehend what Dean had said. She was -dead-? When he found his voice, he stumbled over his words, "How ... how do you _know_? You never saw her, how can you - "

"Her mother was having a nervous breakdown. Came runnin' out of the house, screaming the girl's name. 'Jewel'."

The necklace flashed in Sam's mind's eye. "No. It can't be. Dean, she can't -"

"What're the odds of two girls named 'Jewel' being killed here in the _same night_? Zero." Dean glanced at Sam, who sat back in the seat now, staring blankly at the dashboard. "Don't blame yourself. This is not your fault."

"Those whose was it?"

"Whatever killed her, Sam. You didn't do that."

"No. I just sat six blocks away while _it_ did," he muttered.

"Where do you think I was? Right with you. I'm not blaming myself. We only had what you saw to go on." He realized his hands gripped the steering wheel so tight his fingers were almost numb. "So it was wrong – that's not our fault." He hit Sam in the arm to get his attention. "Hey, listen to me – it's _not_."

He only kept staring at the dash. If only he could disconnect himself from the blame as easily as Dean. If the vision was wrong, then why? Was it -him-? He'd brought them to the school, just like he'd seen. She died anyway.

"We'll find a place outside of town, then we'll figure out what the hell is going on," Dead evenly said after a few minutes of silence. "If it's connected to the demon, we'll figure out why." He glanced at Sam again. "You hear me?"

"Yeah," he weakly replied. All he could see when he closed his eyes was Jewel's dead gaze. She'd been murdered, and he wasn't able to stop it.

I'm sorry, he apologized.

-

End Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

- 

The clock on the nightstand between the two beds in the dingy motel room flicked over to 9:30 AM. As if the two devices were in connected somehow, as soon as it did, Dean's cell "rang".

Sam looked up from their father's Journal. He'd spent the last hour sifting through it, hoping to find anything about the shadow he'd seen in the vision. And what possible link it would have to the demon. Unsurprisingly, no matter how many times he read through it, he didn't find an answer.

"Oh, hey, Ash," Dean greeted as he turned to face Sam. He pointed to the phone, a strange half-smile on his face. "Nice of you to call us back." He paused, then said, "Well, I know how that is." Another pause. "Mad?" He chuckled. "No, why would I be mad? I might be, oh, a tad bit _pissed off_ ..." His tone grew harsher with each word. "Since it took you fifteen goddamn hours to call us back!"

"Dean," Sam sharply whispered. He was just as aggravated it'd taken so long for Ash to return their call, but yelling wouldn't help. The guy was a genius, definitely spacey to a degree. He could easily hang up and leave them without any information.

"Really?" Dean's eyebrows arched. He snapped his fingers to get Sam's attention. "Turn on the TV. Channel 9," he added as Sam did so. "What's on here we should see, Ash?"

The middle-aged blonde anchor woman was relating the news of a murder in Tonganoxie, Kansas. In the upper left hand corner of the screen was a photo of the girl from Sam's vision. The name under the picture was "Julia Myers", though. Still, it was her. According to the anchor, Jewel was only twenty years old. She was barely out of her teens, and she was dead.

Sam sank back down onto the bed, his eyes never leaving the bright, smiling face of the girl. Nothing in her eyes indicated a hidden sadness. She wasn't different from any other girl, she seemed so normal. Why did she have to die? Something had to be there. With the demon, no death was without its purpose.

"We've figured this much out, Ash," Dean was saying as he continued to pace back and forth. He occasionally peered through the blinds of the main window of their room. Partly to check on his car, partly to see if any cops were lurking around. He was still concerned somebody might've noticed him earlier.

"That's not what you need to see," Ash casually replied.

The anchor continued as Jewel's photo vanished and the screen filled with a video shot about an hour earlier. The tag at the bottom of the screen revealed it to be the Overland Park Convention Center, a more heavily populated suburb about 45 minutes away.

"Steven Jordan, the Kansas senator-elect, who has lived in the small town for almost twenty years, made a statement earlier today to reporters outside of the Convention Center," she said.

"Steven Jordan lives there?" Sam repeated, surprised. Someone who'd made a name for himself (as well as a fortune) as a prosecutor calling a place like Tonganoxie home was strange.

"Who's Steven Jordan?" Dean asked, looking down to Sam.

"He was the District Attorney in Johnson County for a long time, until he went into politics," Sam answered. "He ran for the Senate this year. Apparently, he won."

"Huh." Dean had no clue about any of it. Politics held as much interest for him as international soccer. It was just as confusing and twice as boring.

"He's also so conservative he makes Rick Santorum look liberal," Sam added, his tone tinged with slight disgust.

"Uh huh. Yeah, we'll pretend I know what you're talking about, Sam." Dean watched Jordan exit the Convention Center, still answering the reporters as he and his staff headed for a black Lincoln Town Car. "Ash, why do we give a damn about this guy?"

"Mr. Jordan!" called one of the reporters. "If they catch whoever is responsible, will you personally be involved in prosecuting him?"

Jordan stopped amid the cameras, microphones and lights. "My sympathies go out to the Myers family in this sad and difficult time," he solemnly stated. "And _when_ we find the monster responsible for this, I will do everything in my power to make sure he suffers the _full_ penalty of the law."

"Will you opt out of the upcoming Christian Fellowship Gala because of this, Mr. Jordan?" a different reporter asked.

"No," was all he said as he opened the back door of the Town Car.

"Mr. Jordan!"

He ignored the rest of the questions as he slipped into the backseat, his aides following close behind him.

The anchor reappeared. "Jordan is the keynote speaker at the upcoming Christian Fellowship Gala, an event sponsored by the Christian Coalition -"

Sam flicked off the television set.

"Funny how they turn a murder into a political ad," Ash commented.

Dean couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "If I were registered, _I_ wouldn't have voted for him," he said.

"If you were registered, _I'd_ die of shock," Sam put in as he looked up to Dean. "Why is this important to what happened to Jewel Myers?"

"How did you know about that, man?" Dean asked Ash. "You're five hundred miles away."

Ash laughed. "If I told you, it'd chip away from my mystique."

Sam grabbed the phone.

"Hey! What the hell?" Dean protested.

"What does Steven Jordan have to do with this?" he shortly asked as he ignored the glare from Dean.

"Well, hey, Sam," Ash brightly greeted. "I managed to get your little computer problem fixed. Where _did_ you pick up a virus like that, anyway?"

"Ash, Jordan. What's his connection?"

On the other end, Ash sighed heavily. "If _that's_ what you care about."

"A girl was murdered last night," Sam snapped. "And we don't have any answers on why or how or -"

"All right, all right," he interrupted, his tone still as laid back as before. The sound of keys clacking on Ash's end was followed by, "It's not Jordan himself you guys should be interested in. It's his daughter."

"His daughter?" Sam glanced at Dean, who'd sat down on the bed next to him, trying to listen to the conversation.

"Remember the little database you wanted me to compile, which I've been working on, despite all of my previous commitments?" He paused, almost as though it was for dramatic effect. "Steven Jordan's daughter came up as one of the names. So far. I haven't finished yet." More keys clacking. "Tabitha Louise Jordan. Born May 8th, 1983. Mother died on November 8th of the same year, in a mysterious fire in their Mission Hills home. The death certificate lists cause of death as smoke inhalation. The cause of the fire, according to the fire department, was faulty wiring."

"Faulty wiring?" Sam repeated, a baffled expression crossing his face. "In Mission Hills?"

"Doesn't seem like something you'd expect in a million dollar home, huh?" Ash replied.

"Are you _sure_ she's one of them?" asked Dean, glancing at Sam. "Maybe it's a coincidence?"

"This is _my_ program, there are no coincidences," Ash matter-of-factly stated. "Do you want this girl's life history or not?"

"You have that?"

"She's been in the public eye since day one, it's all on file."

Sam grabbed a nearby pen and pad of motel stationary. "Give us the highlights," he said. Several minutes later, Sam clicked off Dean's phone and tossed it aside as he read through the information Ash gave him on Tabitha Jordan. If anything, she'd had an interesting life thus far. "Attended Kansas University, majored in law."

"Guess she wanted to be like her father," Dean said as he looked at him.

Sam glanced up from the paper. He couldn't tell if it was a comment about Tabitha Jordan or him. Even though they'd seemed to have moved past it, Sam felt Dean still resented his leaving. "It would _seem_ so," he finally replied. He focused on the paper, then shook his head. "This is weird, though."

"What?" He crooked his head in order to read what Sam pointed out.

"Why would someone who planned to become a lawyer audition for Juilliard?" He lifted his head, meeting Dean's gaze. "Twice? It doesn't make any sense."

"Why doesn't it make sense?"

"She was accepted both times." Sam stared at him before he asked, "Dean, do you have _any_ idea how good you have to be to get accepted to that school?"

He shrugged.

"Someone who plays piano and violin as a hobby wouldn't stand a chance." He held up the paper so Dean could see all of the notes. "This is someone who takes it seriously, someone who puts in the hours and the effort. And someone with her money wouldn't waste four years at KU if she _wanted_ to go into law, either."

"She'd waste them at Stanford." It was a statement, not a question. He stood up and walked back over to the window, then peered through the venetian blind. "So ... she was accepted to Juilli-whatever? What's that have to do with anything, Sam?"

He sighed as he looked at the paper. "I don't know. It's just ... weird."

A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed.

"Do we talk to her?" Dean finally asked. "Find out if she's the reason this other girl is dead?"

"How could they possibly know each other? Tabitha Jordan went to a private school two counties away." Sam read through what he'd scribbled down. Tabitha was completely disconnected from the place she'd lived her whole life. Something wasn't right. Off. Just like everything else they'd encountered on the job until then.

"If she _is_ involved, something strange may've happened here before," Dean finally suggested. "We could try the local library. Better than sitting here doin' jack."

"Yeah." Sam became more solemn as another thought occurred to him. "We'll have to talk to the Myers family soon, though." He wasn't sure he'd be able to face them. Of course, they had no idea he could've prevented what happened to Jewel, but he knew.

"We will. Not today." Dean wasn't exactly looking forward to it, either. He couldn't get Mrs. Myers out of his head all morning. That screaming. He never wanted to know what it was like to lose a kid. He shifted his attention to Sam. "Let's go."

-

"Hey, Sam."

Sam looked up from the bound archives of past issues of the _Tonganoxie Mirror_. Unlike most libraries they used for research, the one in Tonganoxie wasn't quite caught up with the 21st century. The computers weren't useful for much besides functioning as a card catalog and what wasn't bound in books, like the local paper, was still regulated to microfilm. Across the table, though, Dean had a stack of the library's copies of the yearbooks for Tonganoxie High.

"What?"

"I think I know this kid," he said, sliding the open yearbook for 1993-94 towards Sam. He pointed to a boy in the second row of a group shot of the FHA chapter. "Brian Perkins."

Sam looked from the photo to Dean. "What does _that_ have to do with anything?" he asked. "And why are you even looking through those?"

"Never know what I might find," he replied as he pulled the book back. He flipped through the pages and occasionally chuckled at something.

Sam just stared at him for a few seconds. "Thanks for taking this seriously, Dean. You're a huge help."

He snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the table. The clattered caught the attention of one of the librarians at the front desk. "We've been here three hours, we haven't found anything. Not one weird death. Not one event in the last twenty years that might suggest demon activity."

"And you would know ... how?" He waved a hand at the pile of stuff on his own side of the table. "_This_ is what I've been doing."

Smiling, he gave Sam a thumbs up. "Good work there, too, Sammy." He picked up the yearbook for 2003-04 and opened it.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What the hell is going on with you? Yesterday, you outran cops to get here. This morning, you couldn't wait to work on this. Now, you're just screwing around. If you're not going to help me, leave me alone."

Dean, who'd been balancing his chair on the back two legs, let it drop onto all four. "_I'm_ screwing around?" he shot back. He waved a hand at Sam's junk. "That's twenty years of small town nothin', man. If you haven't found it by now, you're not going to."

"_You_ suggested we come here."

"Yeah, but I didn't suggest we waste three hours on nothin'."

"So _your_ solution is to sift through yearbooks for a school you never even went to?" He shoved one of the bound _Mirror_ archives across the table. "Maybe you should try giving me a hand?"

He shoved it back. "Let's go. We're not gonna find anything."

Sam noticed one of the librarians watching them from across the room. She definitely wasn't pleased. That was all they needed – to get kicked out. His gaze slid back to Dean. "Do whatever you want, then," he sharply whispered.

"I _will_."

Sam angrily flipped the page in his own book. As he looked down, a headline caught his eye. 'Local Boy Murdered, No Suspects'. Beside the article was a color photo of a blond boy, who didn't seem terribly happy at the time of the picture. His eyes were semi-squinted, giving him a sinister appearance. Reading through the details, certain ones jumped out at him. It was last year, mid-October, for starters.

"Alex Bellamy, 19, was found murdered in his home early on the morning of October 19th," he quietly read, not aware he'd spoken aloud.

Police had no leads, no clues, no suspects. No evidence of a break-in or a struggle. His eyes scanned the list of injuries sustained. The cause of death was a cerebral hemorrhage, result of blunt-force trauma to the head. Yet, he had numerous shattered bones. How did that happen with no struggle? As he studied the photo of Alex Bellamy, he felt as though he'd seen him before. Somewhere. He couldn't figure out how or why he knew him, but he did.

"You find something?" Dean's voice drew him out of his search for an answer about Alex Bellamy.

"Look." He pushed the book towards Dean. "Found murdered in his home last October. No leads, no suspects, no sign of break-in."

Dean nodded. "Sounds like our kind of death." He glanced at Sam. "Think it's the same thing that killed Jewel Myers?"

"This kid had multiple fractures, contusions, cause of death was subdural hematoma, the result of blunt-force trauma. Jewel Myers was strangled."

"Well, that vision also showed her being strangled to death inside of the high school. We can't consider it a reliable source of information, Sam." He pointed to a paragraph. "Here's our connection – both were found in their beds. No sign of struggle."

"It doesn't make sense."

"This whole thing hasn't made sense," Dean replied. He paused then added, "You think it might be the demon screwing with us?"

Sam frowned slightly. "How do you mean?"

"Shows us Jewel Myers killed in one way, she dies in another. Try to rattle us, make us believe it's the one in control, and we can't do anything about it. Not like it hasn't done it before."

"Why here? Why now? Why her?"

Dean shrugged. "Who the hell knows? Why us? Why _you_?"

Sam noticed an odd flicker in Dean's eyes when he'd said, "Why _you_?" And he was about to ask him what he'd been meaning to for the past few weeks, but he took an interest in the yearbook laid out in front of Dean instead.

He pulled it to him, studying the picture which had jumped out at him. A color photo of Jewel Myers (listed as 'Julia') with the rest of her cheerleading squad. It wasn't the picture of Jewel herself, it was the lockers in the background. They were gray, not red. He shook his head as he read over the information listed with the picture. 2003-04. Jewel was a senior. The picture was two years old.

"What's wrong?"

Sam saw Dean eying him closely. "It's nothing," he replied.

Dean dragged the yearbook back, noticed the same picture then shrugged. "So she was a cheerleader. I don't think we should hold it against her."

"It's not that, it's the lockers behind them."

"So? What about'em?"

"Last night, I took a look inside of the school, while you were in town," Sam explained. He pointed to the picture. "The lockers in the vision were this color. The ones I saw last night are red."

"Big deal. They changed the paint job."

"You don't find that strange?"

"No."

"The main entrance was locked, too. No way she could've ran inside like she did in the vision, either."

Dean snapped the book shut. "Haven't we established that vision isn't reliable, Sam? Weren't we _just_ thinking it was bogus on purpose?"

"_You_ were. I'm not so sure about it." He sat back in his chair, contemplative. "Then there's Tabitha Jordan ..." After a moment, he stood and grabbed the archive with the article on Alex Bellamy.

"Where're you goin'?" Dean asked as he walked by.

"I'm making a copy of this, then we can leave."

"A copy? Why?"

Sam only kept walking.

Dean turned back to the table. This thing had Sam's head more screwed up than usual. He sighed as he drummed his fingers on the top of the table. They stopped, though, as his gaze fell back onto the 2003-04 yearbook. It occurred to him they might have further use for it. At least, find out more about the victim.

After glancing back towards the desk where the two librarians were stationed, he quickly tucked the book under his arm, inside of his jacket. Casually, he rose to his feet and headed towards the door. "Meet you outside," he murmured as he passed by Sam.

Sam watched him leave then yanked the fresh photocopies off of the Xerox machine's tray. He looked down at the paper. Alex Bellamy. How did he know this kid?

-

Once they were back at the motel, Dean yanked the yearbook from inside of his jacket. He ignored the look from Sam as he sat down on his bed and opened it.

"Did you steal that?" Sam asked after he watched Dean flip through a few pages.

"No," he replied, not even glancing up at him. "I fully intend to give it back. 'Borrow' is the right word."

"Taking something without permission is still _stealing_, Dean."

"It's a yearbook, for Christ's Sakes!" Dean looked over to him. "You act like I swiped the tags offa somebody's license plate." A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "That reminds me, I should do that while we're here."

"You can't steal the tags off of somebody's car!" Sam exclaimed. He hadn't meant to sound like he was eight years old again, but he couldn't help it. Some days, the stuff Dean said or did made him involuntarily regress.

"Why not?" He flashed him a grin before he went back to the yearbook. "Just one more in the long list of felonies and misdemeanors on my rap sheet."

"That's not funny."

He raised his eyebrows as he looked over his shoulder to Sam. "We run _credit card scams_ to survive. Lighten up, would you?"

With a frustrated sigh, Sam dropped down onto the other bed. He shouldn't have been surprised – Dean never had a problem breaking the law, even _before_ the job required it.

"Dude, girls didn't look like this when I was in high school," Dean murmured as he shook his head. "If they had, I would've gone more."

Sam managed to not laugh aloud. Things had been so tense between them, though, he probably should have. They didn't have a lot to joke about lately. It was beyond depressing. Even for him. He shifted and reached into the back pocket of his jeans, then pulled out the copy he'd made of the Alex Bellamy article. He studied the now black and white photo. Nineteen. That would've put him in Jewel's class.

"Dean ... do you see him in there anywhere?" He held up the paper so Dean could see it. "Alex Bellamy. He'd be with the Senior class."

With a slight shrug, he found the section with the single student photos. "Huh. Yeah, he's here."

"Are he and Jewel in any pictures together?" he asked as he moved over to where Dean was. "Clubs? Random photos? Maybe _they_ have a connection at least."

Upon reviewing the entire yearbook, they discovered Jewel Myers and Alex Bellamy couldn't have been more different from one another. She was involved in almost every extracurricular activity Tonganoxie High had to offer – drama, pep club, the school newspaper were only a few in addition to the cheerleading squad.

Alex Bellamy appeared to be an outcast, someone who had no interest in school beyond what was required of him (actually going). He couldn't even come up with an answer for what he planned to do after graduation. Jewel's aspirations, on the other hand, were to move to New York City and become a star on Broadway.

"This chick was kind of boring," Dean commented. He glanced at Sam. "Not that she should've died, man, but ... pep club? The school paper? A regular B Honor Roll student?"

"Most people think about life beyond the next five minutes, Dean," Sam stiffly replied. "_Most_ people, anyway. She had a goal in life."

He closed the yearbook as Sam stood. "I wasn't takin' a shot at you," he said. "Even if you _are_ pretty goddamn boring, too."

Sam didn't respond, he only stood by the window and stared through the open blinds. It was late afternoon. They'd been in town almost twenty-four hours and had almost nothing to show for it. Certainly not saving Jewel's life.

"We're gonna have to talk to her family, you know," Dean added after a few moments.

"I know."

Dean shifted uneasily. "So ... when?"

Sam looked over his shoulder and noticed how uncomfortable Dean seemed. "After the funeral, I guess."

He shook his head as he tossed the book aside and got up. "Oh, no, we can't hang out here that long. I want to find this thing, kill it – if we can – and get the hell out of town."

"Didn't you say her mother was hysterical? We can't go knocking on her door two days after the fact." He watched Dean pace back and forth. "We've waited before and you never had a problem." To be honest, Sam wanted to find Tabitha Jordan. Why her presence in town didn't interest Dean, he couldn't figure out.

He stopped. He hadn't wanted to tell him, but Sam wouldn't let it go without some explanation. "Not all of those other towns were fifteen minutes away from Lawrence, either," he practically forced out.

Sam's face softened as he regarded Dean. Of course. That's why he was crankier than usual, where they were.

"You're lucky, Sammy," Dean went on. He looked his brother straight in the eye now. "You're lucky you don't remember what happened there." He jaw clenched briefly. He didn't like talking about it. Not even in vague terms. "I have nightmares about that damn house whenever we're this close."

Sam hadn't seen Dean this rattled in a while. He had to hand it to him, he definitely masked his feelings better than anyone else he knew. Except for their own father. "All right," he quietly said after a silence which seemed to last forever. "We'll go in the morning."

Dean nodded, visibly relieved.

-

End Chapter Two


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three 

-

By the time Dean pulled alongside the curb in front of the Myers' home, it was late morning. Both of the cars were parked in the exact same spots as the night of Jewel's murder. The yard showed the scars of the police and emergency vehicles. Probably some news crews, too. Death in the hometown of a senator-elect definitely warranted non-stop local coverage.

He didn't make a move to get out after he killed the engine, only stared at the house as he remembered that night. Jewel's mother was hysterical in a way he'd never seen before. He couldn't imagine how it must've felt to lose a kid. He looked to Sam, who gazed out of his own window at the Myers' home. Well, maybe he could.

"We can come back later," Sam told him after almost two minutes of sitting there.

He shook his head as he opened his door. "No." He just wanted to get it over with.

As they walked to the front door, both noticed the fairly new bumper sticker on the back of the red Toyota Corolla for a "Cottey College". This must've been Jewel's car. The school name registered with Sam, but he only knew it was located somewhere in northern Missouri. The close proximity gave him an idea for their cover story.

Dean hesitated before he punched the doorbell. "Any clue what we're gonna say?" It occurred to him they hadn't worked out a story beforehand. Not the smartest way to move into this part of the investigation.

"Follow my lead," Sam quickly replied as the door unlocked.

"Yes?" asked a woman as she regarded the two strangers on her doorstep.

Dean recognized her as Mrs. Myers. Except she was much worse for the wear than when he'd last seen her. Her short, dark hair was disheveled, as though it'd been a few days since she'd last brushed it. Her eyes were puffy, with the beginnings of black circles underneath them. The entirety of her face was washed out, tired. Despite it being almost noon, she was still in her robe.

"Mrs. Myers, we're friends of your daughter, Jewel," Sam said as he gained her attention. "I'm ..." He searched for a suitable alias then spouted the only one to come to mind. "Brian Perkins. This is -"

Dean smiled a little as he spoke up. "Joe Walsh."

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Mrs. Myers looked from one to the other. "I'm sorry – you're friends of Jewel's?"

"From school. Cottey College," Sam answered.

Her brow knitted in puzzlement. "_You_ went to Cottey with Jewel?" she repeated. She shook her head a bit. "How could you have gone there? Cottey is an all-female juco."

The two exchanged a quick, slightly panicked glance. They had a problem now. A problem neither of them was sure how to explain their way out of. Fortunately, Dean thought fast.

"_We_ didn't go there," he said, when it was obvious Sam didn't have any ideas. "My _cousin_ does. We met Jewel through her."

Mrs. Myers eased slightly at the clarification. "Oh. Who is she?"

"Who is who?"

"Your cousin. Cottey only enrolls about 350 students a year, so Jewel knew everyone to some extent. She had a lot of friends."

Ah, goddamnit, Dean thought. This couldn't get worse if they'd _tried_ to make it that way.

"Sam ..." he murmured, hoping to hell _he'd_ have something.

Sam glanced at him. What now?

"Her name is _Sam_?" Mrs. Myers asked as she glanced between them.

"Uh ... well ... it's _Samantha_, actually," Dean quickly replied. He decided to run with it. At this point, he'd try anything. "Winchester." He ignored the glare Sam briefly shot at him. "We call her 'Sam', though." He offered a slight smile.

After a couple of moments, Mrs. Myers let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sure she must've mentioned her," she said. She dragged her fingers through her hair, her eyes closing briefly. "It's ... everything's been a blur to me. I'm lucky I remember how to breathe." Her hand dropped to her side. "The police, the reporters ... " She paused. "I"m sorry. I'm dumping all of this on you and I haven't even let you in."

"It's all right, Mrs. Myers," Sam assured her. He was empathetic, the same empathy he felt for every person they'd met who'd lost someone. This time, it was just a bit different. He could've prevented it.

Dean cleared his throat. Usually, he didn't feel bad about lying to a victim's family on the job. Today, it bothered him. "We could come back - "

"No. Please. It'd be nice to have someone other than police in the house." She stepped back so they could come inside. As she closed the door, she gestured to room at the end of the main hallway. "You can sit down. I'll ... be back in a few minutes."

They watched her ascend the staircase situated next to the hall. Then, she vanished into one of the second floor rooms.

"OW!" Dean exclaimed after Sam open-palmed slapped him in the arm. He rubbed the spot as he glared at him. "What the hell was that for?"

"_Samantha Winchester_?" he replied, his eyes narrowing. "That was the best thing you could think of?"

"Got us in, didn't it? You weren't comin' up with any brilliant answers, Mr. Follow-My-Lead," he snapped. As an afterthought, he smacked Sam in his good arm. "And don't hit me ... _Samantha_." He'd barely turned his back before he jerked from being punched in the shoulder. He chuckled. "Oh, you're _askin'_ for it, little brother."

"Who the hell are you two?"

A girl's voice made both of them turn around. They were shocked to find Jewel Myers standing in the archway which separated the hall from the living room. At least, she _looked_ somewhat like Jewel Myers. Same slender yet average build, same dark eyes. That's where it ended, though.

Her shoulder-length hair was an unnatural reddish-orange color (an obvious dye job), and her clothes might've made somebody mistake her for a guy at first glance - a worn and faded black Joan Jett t-shirt coupled with a pair of multi-pocketed khaki cargo pants and scuffed black boots in Army regulation style. The one thing bright about her – besides the hair – was a glimmering gold chain around her neck.

"Uh ..." Sam shifted his gaze to Dean who seemed just as surprised as he was.

It was then he noticed a portrait hanging on the wall, behind Dean. Mrs. Myers, in much better condition than present, along with two girls. Identical twins. One he recognized from his vision and the other was the girl glaring at them from the opposite end of the hall.

"We're friends of your sister's," he finally replied as he looked to her.

Dean caught sight of the same picture almost as soon as Sam answered. A sister? And a friggin' twin, too? Why hadn't she been in any of the yearbooks he spent most of yesterday sifting through?

"Really?" She crossed her arms over her chest as she approached them. "I know all of Jewel's friends, I don't know you." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And she never mentioned you, either. I'd have remembered."

"We're ... newer friends," Dean said. They were losing control of the situation with each second. If only they'd know the damn girl had a sister ...

"_Really_?" she said again as her gaze flicked to Dean. "What's my name, then?" Her arms fell to her sides when neither one attempted to guess. "It's Jaina. If you were _actually_ friends of my sister's, you'd have known."

"Well," Sam started as he looked to Dean for help.

"You're not cops – you don't look like 'em," Jaina continued as she came to a stop a few feet in front of them. "Most cops would know who I am, anyway. That leaves reporters or couple of jagoffs with morbid curiosity. If you're either one, you can get the hell out of my house right now."

"We're not reporters," Sam assured her.

"Which leaves the last option," she stated as her eyes narrowed.

Dean stepped in front of Sam, holding up a hand. "Hey, we're only here to help. We want to find whoever killed your sister."

"If you're not cops, why would you _care_ who killed Julie?" she snapped.

"It's part of our job to care," Sam said. When Jaina looked at him, he added, "We only want to help. That's the truth."

Her features softened a little . "What job is that?"

"Well, it's - " He stopped when he saw Mrs. Myers, more disoriented than before, coming down the stairs. She gripped the wooden railing with both hands, almost as though it was the only thing keeping her steady, as she planted one foot down on each step before she moved again.

"Jaina's just ... don't mind her ..." Mrs. Myers said, her speech slightly slurred. "She's just ... upset ..." As she came to the last stair, she lost her balance and violently pitched forward.

Luckily, Dean was close enough to catch her before she could hit the floor. He looked over his shoulder to Sam, baffled as to why she was like this, then back to the woman. "Are you all right, Mrs. Myers?"

Jaina put an arm around her mother's waist but paused, curious, when Dean didn't let go. He seemed set on helping her. "She's fine," she shortly told them. "Damn doctor prescribed this sedative and she's taking it constantly. She's been like this for two days."

Together, she and Dean walked Mrs. Myers down the hallway and into living room. Once there, they helped her to lie down on the worn-out sofa. After she was certain her mother was all right, Jaina turned to them.

"I've been stuck dealing with everything – the cops, the neighbors, the funeral home ..." She sighed heavily as she shook her head. "It's not easy to plan your own sister's funeral. In fact, it _sucks_."

"Your father isn't around?" Sam asked. He hadn't noted any indications someone other than the three in the photo lived there.

"Hell no," she grumbled. "He took off when we were kids. Good riddance, too." She glanced between them. "You never did tell me who you really are and why you're here."

"We're here to figure out what happened to Jewel," Dean replied.

"What's to figure out? Someone broke in, strangled her in her bed and we didn't hear a damn thing." She sat down on the arm of the sofa, her gaze settling on her mother who'd fallen asleep. "Mom woke up about 1:30 in the morning, said she had a bad feeling. Went into Julie's room ... and ... "

"And the police have no leads?"

"They don't know how he got into the _house_. The windows and doors were all locked." She shook her head, snorting softly. "Then, the cops around here couldn't find their own asses with a map and a three day headstart."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean. At least one other portion of the vision was right – cause of death.

"Your sister didn't mention anything strange going on lately, did she?" Dean asked. "Maybe someone following her?"

"She would've told me if something weird was going on."

"No strange noises? Dreams? Nothing at all out of the ordinary happened in the house or around her in the last week or so?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "What kind of questions are these? You sound like that guy on _The X-Files_."

"Jaina, did your sister know Tabitha Jordan?"

At the same time, Dean and Jaina looked to Sam, both surprised. Jaina's eyes, however, darkened in the next instant.

"Don't ever mention that bitch's name in my house again," she hissed.

"So, she knew her?" He had a connection between the victim and Tabitha. It was something go on when they finally talked to her.

Angered even more, Jaina grabbed Sam by the jacket and pulled him into the main hall. Her jaw clenched as her fist tightened. "Don't talk about her, especially when my mom might hear you." She let him go. "That bitch almost ruined Julie's life with her bullshit. Some people can't let things go."

"What did she do?"

"Jaina?" Mrs. Myers called out, groggily. "Where are you?"

Jaina glanced over her shoulder. "Just get out of here," she snarled as she glared at Sam. "_Both_ of you." Her shoulders slumped as her mother called again. "I don't have time for this."

Sam watched her retreat back into the living room and kneel down on the floor, beside her mother who was still on the sofa. What had happened between Jewel and Tabitha that left Jaina so angry?

"C'mon, let's go back to the motel," Dean said as he put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "She won't tell us anything else today."

Jaina turned at the waist as she heard the front door shut. Whoever they were, they knew more than strangers should've, especially where her sister and Tabitha Jordan were concerned. How they knew, that bothered her even more.

-

"Wonder what that was all about?" Dean said as he pulled away from the Myers' home. He glanced at Sam. "You bringing up that Jordan chick pissed her off pretty good."

Sam only stared out of the window. 'That bitch almost ruined Julie's life ...' How did Tabitha Jordan know Jewel Myers? Despite having lived in the town almost her whole life, nothing Ash told them suggested she ever associated with the people. The girls didn't share any interests, didn't go to the same schools, so what about Jewel would make her appear on Tabitha's radar?

"Sam." Dean's voice snapped him out of his contemplation. "I'm talkin' to you."

"What?"

"The other girl, Jaina – I wonder why she wasn't in the yearbooks?"

"She didn't seem like the school type, Dean. Maybe she dropped out."

"Or was kicked out." If there was one thing Dean could spot, it was a juvenile delinquent. A "takes one to know one" type of deal.

Sam pointed ahead. "Take a left up here."

"Why? What's left?"

"Evans Street. Where Tabitha Jordan lives."

Dean took the next left as instructed and they were on their way out of town. The houses became more sparse. "You think she'll even talk to us?"

"We have to try. If she's knows anything about what happened to Jewel Myers ..."

"What do we do if she does?" Dean shook his head a bit. "Our track record where these other kids are concerned isn't great, Sammy. Two of 'em are dead."

"And one is still alive," Sam added as he went back to staring out of the window. "He knows what's going on, too."

"Really? I thought we didn't have a friggin' clue what was goin' on."

"You know what I mean. About the demon. Why Andy has his ... ability."

"And if Tabitha Jordan is using _her_ ability to kill people?"

"I'll stop her."

"_You_ will?"

"What else can I do?" Sam countered, frustrated, as he looked to him. "Maybe she's not even _aware_ she's using it, if it's even her."

"Didn't seem to bother old Max none."

"He was a troubled kid."

"What makes you think she isn't?" He waited for a reply but Sam wouldn't even make eye contact with him now. "Sam?"

"Just drive," he muttered.

Dean focused on the road ahead. He knew it wasn't going to turn out well. Things never did when the demon was involved.

-

The Jordan Estate was situated nearly a mile and a half outside of town. And it most definitely was an estate. It sat alone in the midst of open land, but the closer one came to the house itself, well-tended trees, bushes and flower beds surrounded speckled the property.

The long driveway snaked up a slight incline and led almost directly to the front doors of the house. Off to the left, the garage was its own separate building. On the other side, a sidewalk led to the back, where it appeared to be fenced. The two-story house itself resembled an Italian villa, with off-white pillars lined across the front of the home and brick-red tiles on the roof.

"Never seen a place like this in the middle of nowhere before, especially here," Dean commented as he and Sam got out of the car. He tilted his head back and gazed up at the arched windows at the second story level. "Huh."

Sam hadn't paid as much attention to the Jordan home as Dean. He was more concerned with how they were going to approach the girl herself. Did they tell her the truth? Or use one of their usual cover stories? If so, which one? He definitely wasn't dressed to pass himself off as a fellow law student.

"I tell you, if you gotta be stuck in the boonies, this is how to live." Dean stopped in front of the pristine white double doors which were the main entrance to the house. Not a speck of dirt on them. "So ... what do we say?"

"I thought we'd try the truth," Sam answered then pushed the doorbell.

The sound of a grand chime could be heard echoing throughout the house from their place on the stoop. A few moments later, the left door opened and a short, middle-aged woman, dressed in something similar to a maid's uniform, appeared. She glanced at each of them. "Yes, how may I help you?"

Before Sam could open his mouth, Dean spoke. "I'm Joe Walsh -" He jerked a thumb at Sam. "This is Don Henley. We're students at KU, with _The University Daily Kansan_, the school paper. Tabitha Jordan lives here, right?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, she does. The _college's_ newspaper?" she repeated. "Ms. Jordan graduated more than a semester ago, why would your school's paper be interested in her?"

"Well, we wanted to talk to her about the last election. What it's like to be the daughter of the man who just won a seat in the House -"

"The _Senate_," Sam corrected underneath his breath.

Dean laughed. "Oh, yeah! Get'em mixed up sometimes." He grinned at the maid. "No wonder I'm flunkin' the course, huh?"

Sam barely managed to not roll his eyes. This was almost as bad as what had happened at the Myers' house.

"I'm sorry, but Ms. Jordan isn't home at the moment."

"Ah, could you possibly tell us where she is, or when you'd expect her back? See, we have a deadline ..." He tapped the face of his wristwatch. "Editor gets cranky when we're late with a story, especially one as big as this."

"Ms. Jordan spends most of her Saturdays and Sundays at the local high school." Then, she added, "She uses their music room for her violin sessions. Something about the acoustics?" She shook her head. "Even all of these years later, I still don't understand the particulars of it."

"She's at the high school now?" Sam asked.

"Yes. She may still be there."

Dean smiled. "Thanks. We'll check the school."

The woman smiled politely in return then closed the door.

"Uses the local high school for violin practice," he commented as he and Sam headed back to the car.

"Might explain the connection. If she's been using it for a while, maybe she and Jewel had an encounter?"

"Guess we'll find out soon enough." Dean opened the driver's side door. "And you're welcome." Off of Sam's slightly confused expression, he went on, "For my quick thinkin' back there. Wouldn't have been a good idea to tell _her_ the truth."

Sam considered it. "Probably not." A pause. "And, seriously, what _is_ it with you and the Eagles?" he asked. "Don Henley, Joe Walsh?"

He shrugged. "It's a _Hotel California_ kind of day," he replied then got in the car.

-

The only vehicle in the school's parking lot was (presumably) Tabitha Jordan's. As soon as Dean parked the Impala in the space two to the left of it, he was out of his own car and near-gaping at the shiny, black two-door sports car. He did a complete circle of the car, that look in his eyes, the one he had when he saw one more impressive than his own. It wasn't too often.

"_Dude_ ... this guy has serious cash flow," he said, the awe reflected in his voice.

Sam gave the car a once over. He knew enough about them to get by, but Dean's knowledge far surpassed his. "It's all right," he offered. He wasn't there to oogle Tabitha's car, though, and he didn't care about it.

"_All right_?" Dean looked at Sam, almost dumbfounded. "This is a 2006 Aston Martin V8 Vantage. This is a $150,000 dollar sports car. I've only seen pictures of it in magazines, man." If he wasn't sure it had an alarm, he would've touched it. Just to say he'd done it. "Rich people get all of the nice stuff. It ain't fair."

"Come on," Sam said, slightly irritated with Dean's gearhead gushing, then he walked toward the main entrance of the school. He didn't like being back here, it only served as a reminder of his failure to save Jewel.

Inside, a janitor pointed them in the direction of the music room. Sam recognized the hallway they walked down now from his dream. Like usual, minor things were different, beyond the color of the lockers. The banners all lauded a Winter Dance as well as covering every possible winter holiday in wishing the students a "happy" one.

At the end of the hall, Sam stopped dead in his tracks. He knew the door. This was where Jewel was killed. In the vision, anyway. He found it odd she would come to the music room. Or maybe it was just a coincidence?

"What _is_ that?" Dean asked. He squinted as he listened. It was a violin, the music came from behind the door. He looked to Sam. "I'll never get this music. It sounds like somebody backed over a cat in an alleyway."

Leaning forward, Sam listened closely to the playing. "It's from _La Traviata_."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What's that? A Spanish soap opera?"

"No," he said as he looked to him. "It's an Italian opera, by Verdi."

He shrugged. "What's the difference?"

"There's a _huge_ difference. _This_ opera is theatrical drama which is almost wholly conveyed through music and song."

"It's actually disturbs me how much you know about this crap, Sam."

Sam ignored him as he leaned against the door and continued to listen to the sorrowful tone of the solo violin. He'd heard it several times before in a general overview course he'd taken, but never had he experienced it live. Something in the current playing wasn't the same as the recordings, he could only describe it as "feeling".

"We goin' in or what?" Dean asked. Just then, the piece finished. "Great. I wasn't sure how much more of that I'd be able to stand."

Shaking his head a bit, Sam quietly opened the door. Inside of the room, every chair and music stand was stacked neatly against the back wall, except for those Tabitha Jordan used currently.

She was bent over at the waist in her chair, carefully placing her violin and bow into its case. Neither could see her face but it was obvious she wasn't a regular resident. Her clothes were designer. Of course, they didn't have a clue as to which one. Still, they could safely assume someone with a $150,000 sports car didn't shop at Sears. The young woman closed the case and sat up.

She was not what they'd expected – definitely not Dean. Every chick he'd known who was into boring crap like operas _looked_ like they were into boring crap like operas. Not this girl. In fact, she kind of resembled the girl who'd played John Travolta's daughter in _Face/Off_. She was slender, with fair-toned skin which she probably spent a fortune to keep so near flawless, and her dirty blonde hair was skillfully piled on top of her head. She seemed out of place in the school. Hell, the whole _state_.

Her dark eyes narrowed once she noticed the two strangers in the room. "How did _you_ get in here?" she asked as she rose to her feet. "Who are you?"

"We're - " Dean was cut off by Sam stepping in front of him.

"You're Tabitha Jordan, right?"

She eyed them. "Yes. Who are _you_? And who told you I was here?"

"The woman at your house, the maid? My name is Sam Winchester." He ignored Dean poking him in the back with his finger. He didn't care. He was going to be honest with her. No more lies.

"Should that _mean_ something to me?" she coolly asked. She picked up her violin case and settled her harsh gaze on him. "And if it did, I would be extremely surprised." She gave them both a critical once over then scoffed lightly. "_Shocked_, more like."

Dean's irritation with Sam using his real name vanished. This chick actually thought she was better than them? Sure, he'd come across the attitude before, but not to such a blatant level.

"No, you don't know us, but we know you," Sam said. He had less of a problem with her attitude. He simply chose to not let it get to him.

"People _think_ they know me," Tabitha haughtily snorted as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "You shouldn't believe everything you read in the papers," she admonished as she came towards them. "Now, I'm terribly busy today and I haven't the time for whatever it is you're here for."

Dean watched her throw open the door as she strolled right by him, without so much as a glance. She definitely wasn't anything like the last rich girl they'd met.

"Tabitha, wait!" Sam called as he followed her into the empty hallway.

She whirled around, more aggravated than before. "I also haven't the slightest clue as to _whom_ you are, therefore, we are _not_ on a first name basis." She looked to Dean as he joined Sam. "If you don't leave, I'll call the police." With that, she turned and began to walk away.

"I know your mother died in a mysterious fire when you were six months old!" Sam saw her freeze dead in her tracks. "When you still lived in Mission Hills."

She peered over her shoulder. "Is that supposed to impress me? It proves nothing, except you've the ability to read a newspaper. How my mother died is common knowledge, it's no secret."

"No, the secret is how she _really_ died. No faulty wiring caused the fire. And she didn't die from smoke inhalation, either. She was murdered."

Tabitha slowly pivoted on her heel, her eyes narrowed at him with suspicion. "Who told you that?" she demanded.

"It's true, isn't it? Your father covered up what really happened - "

She took a step forward. "If you're suggesting my father _killed_ my mother -"

Sam shook his head. "Not your father." He paused. "Something else."

Her expression changed, the suspicion was replaced by sadness. It wasn't overt, but it was there just enough for Sam to notice. The young woman's hand regripped the handle of her violin case. "You haven't _any_ idea of what you're talking about," she evenly replied. "She died in a _fire_. That is _it_. No demon is responsible."

Dean perked when he heard her say 'demon'. His gaze shifted to Sam's profile. He didn't need to see him fully to know he'd caught the slip, too.

"Who said anything about a demon?" Sam casually asked.

"_You_ did," she spat back.

His head shook, very slightly. "No. I said 'something else', not 'demon'."

Her teeth clenched and she suddenly turned. "Leave me alone!" she snapped as she walked down the hallway at a quickened pace.

"Tabitha!" Sam rushed through the double doors and down the concrete steps.

"Go away!" she shouted as she hit the button to disarm her car alarm. "If you won't do that, I _will_ call the cops." She tossed her bag onto the passenger's seat via the open driver's side door.

"It's important you talk to us," he said as he came up just behind her. He watched her carefully place her violin on the passenger's side floor.

"Why?" she angrily asked. "What does it matter to you how my mother really died?"

"Because the same thing happened to mine. And the same demon that killed her killed yours."

She turned and looked up at him, incredulous. "You're insane."

"I wish I were, but I'm not," he said as she got into her car. He grabbed the door before she could shut it. She stared up at him from the driver's seat, surprised. "Someone might've died the other night because of it, too."

Her face remained a mix of aggravation and sadness. "Are you saying this ... demon killed that Myers girl?" Her tone was oddly cool now.

"I'm not sure. I have to find out, though. You might be involved, too."

"Why would _I_ be involved?"

"Jaina Myers says you knew her sister, that's why." Sam and Tabitha both looked up to find Dean standing on the sidewalk. "And you'd caused her a lotta grief," he added.

She laughed sharply. "Oh, I did, huh?"

"So she says."

"Jaina Myers is a low-class, low-life juvenile delinquent. I shouldn't believe much of what she says, if I were you."

"She was pretty convincing," Dean replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

She scoffed. "Her sister wasn't the sort of person I would care to associate myself with."

"Why not?" He smirked. "Too poor?"

She paused before she snapped, "No. Too _gay_." She shoved Sam's hand off of her door then slammed it shut. Sam barely stepped away from the car before she flew out of the parking space, then sped out of the lot.

Dean stepped beside Sam, watching with him as Tabitha's car vanished. "I don't get it ... does she mean _gay_ gay or _stupid_ gay?"

-

End Chapter Three


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four 

-

"We should've followed her," Sam said as he entered the motel room. He turned to Dean. "We have to find out if she has an ability, and if she does, if she's using it."

Dean kicked the door shut and tossed his keys on the dresser, where the yearbook and a stack of notes Sam had taken were piled. "If we'd followed her, she _would've_ called the cops." He sat down on one of the beds and sighed. "Maybe we should consider some alternatives here, Sammy?"

"Alternatives?" Sam repeated, not hiding his surprise. "What 'alternatives', Dean? It's all connected – we just don't know _how_. Which is why I have to talk to her again."

"The vision you had, how can it be connected to this when hardly anything about it was right?" He watched Sam pace back and forth in front of him. "You have to think, maybe it's not related to Miss Priss. Or to the demon."

"But she knew Jewel -"

"It's a small friggin' town, Sam. It's no big shocker she'd have known Jewel was ..." He couldn't quite say it. After everything he'd learned about her, it still surprised him. It shouldn't have – no one was a stereotype. Though, if he'd had to guess which of the Myers' sisters was, he'd have picked Jaina. Unless _she_ was, too.

"She's involved," Sam stated. "How much, I don't know. And I don't understand why you're so quick to say this isn't demon-related? Without the vision, we would have Tabitha Jordan, another kid like me, in town."

Dean looked away. "Maybe the demon crossed her off the list?" he suggested. "I dunno if you noticed, she was a really stuck-up bitch."

"Or maybe just a really frightened girl?" He finally sat down on the other bed, across from Dean. He stared at the worn carpet underneath his boots. "If she does have an ability, she might not be able to control it. Jewel might've been an accident. If that's the deal, she needs our help."

Dean laid back on his bed. "_You're_ the special one, brother." He looked to Sam. "You're the one whose help she needs – not mine."

"You're not even going to _try_? You're going just lie here while I do all of the work?"

"Been pannin' out pretty well for us so far."

Sam studied Dean for a few moments. "Are you _scared_ of her?" Not that he expected an answer, but Dean's past run-ins with those like Sam had been near fatal. Was that why he wanted to ignore the demon aspect? Any excuse to avoid Tabitha Jordan?

Dean stared at the ceiling as he locked his hands together behind his head. He figured Sam wasn't stupid enough to think he'd answer that. Or if he did say anything, it wouldn't be what his little brother wanted to hear. So, when he rolled over onto his side and plopped a pillow over his head, he hoped Sam wouldn't press the issue.

"I didn't sleep great last night," he said, his voice muffled by the pillow. "We'll figure out our next move tomorrow."

-

Tabitha Jordan quietly shut the door as she entered her home. It was much later than she'd told Audrey, the maid, when she would be back. After her encounter with Sam Winchester at the school, she'd spent almost two and a half hours driving around, aimlessly. Driving and thinking. About what he'd said. It disturbed her how much he knew about her, things he _shouldn't _have known.

"Ms. Jordan?"

She placed her violin case on the floor and turned around. "Sorry I'm late," she apologized.

"Your father phoned," Audrey replied as she came to a stop in front of her. She accepted the young woman's coat and purse. "He would appreciate it if you'd return the call. He's at the Raphael Hotel, on the Plaza."

"Did he say why he called?" she asked as she picked up her case again.

"I suppose he wanted to make certain you were all right. The business with the Myers girl has the media badgering him more than usual." She paused as she hung up the coat in the nearby closet. "Did those two young men find you, by the way?"

Tabitha's eyes widened briefly. "Who?"

"They said the were from the University newspaper. Wanted to interview you." She noticed the expression on Tabitha's face. "Should I have sent them away? Your father didn't seem concerned when I mentioned them to him."

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. They shouldn't be back." She smiled. "I'll be in the piano room for the rest of the evening."

"Yes, Ms. Jordan."

She watched the woman walk back towards the kitchen. Once Audrey was gone, she sighed. She'd been through the a lot the past few weeks. This Sam Winchester was the last thing she needed. Sighing again, she headed down the hallway.

After she passed several regular doors, she came to a stop at a sliding one which she opened. The large room had once served as the parlor but it was converted into a 'piano room' eventually. The grand, one of the few things in the room, was also one of the few things of her mother's Tabitha had left.

She placed her violin case against the wall and let her bag of music drop onto the bench. As she sat down, she pulled her cell from inside of it and dialed her father's cell number.

"Hello?"

She smiled slightly at the sound of his voice. "Hey, Dad," she greeted.

"Tabitha! Where were you earlier? Audrey said you didn't come home when you'd -"

"I was just driving around," she interrupted. "Nothing to worry about. How are things on your end?"

"I'm headed to D.C., as soon as the Gala is over. Jeff is concerned about the recent press, about that Myers girl. Says I shouldn't be here for a few weeks. What about you? Did you hear from Martin Sellers?"

"Yes. He phoned earlier this morning." She turned around to face the piano, her eyes studied the glimmering pearl and ebony keys. "He said they understand why I chose to take a year off, before I went back to school."

"They'd better! Martin certainly owes me. He wouldn't be a Harvard Law alumni himself if not for me."

Her fingers brushed over the keys. "Dad ... I want to ask you about something." She paused. "About Mom."

After a few moments of dead silence, he said, "What about her?"

"Does ... does anyone else know about what _really_ happened to her, besides Audrey?"

"Tabitha, why would you dredge up something so horrible?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Dad, it's ... no one else knows, do they?"

"Absolutely not. Why are you bringing it up, after all of these years?"

'Because the same thing happened to mine ...' she remembered Sam say at the school. Her fingers pressed against her forehead. "No reason. Just ... forget I brought it up, Dad."

A short silence followed. "Audrey said two boys from the University visited the house today. Did you speak with them?"

"Yes, a little."

"Did they want to know about the Fetterman issue?"

"No, they didn't ask about anything connected to the campaign. It was a simple article about _me_, only me."

"As long as you conducted yourself properly ..."

"I _always_ do. You've made it clear since I was a child what you've expected of me. I haven't disappointed you yet, have I?"

"Of course not. I'm extremely proud of you. And I'll be more so once you return to school." There was a pause and voices on Mr. Jordan's end of the line. "Tabitha, I'm terribly busy."

She sighed. "Yes, I understand."

"I'll phone you tomorrow."

"Goodbye, Dad."

Goodbye." The line went dead.

She clicked off her cell and tossed it back into her bag. Her attention shifted to the piano keys. Slowly, her hands rested on them, then, quietly, she began to play. The tune was an old lullaby, it was another of the few things of her mother's she had. Though she'd been too young to remember, she knew her mother would sing it to her every night.

At the open door, Audrey decided to leave Tabitha alone for the rest of the evening. Quietly, she slid the door shut. For a few moments, she listened to tune, the words coming to her at the same time.

'Children's dreams cannot be broken ... life is but a lovely token ... Words of God are softly spoken ... all through the night ...'

-

Slowly, Dean's eyes drifted open. As soon as they did, he squinted at the awful brightness of the motel room. He rolled onto his right side and realized why this was. Sam, already fully dressed, sat in a chair by the window, blinds completely raised, and just stared out. At the parking lot, apparently. The fact they had an east-facing room made it all the worse.

"How long you been up?" he asked as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wiped a hand over his face and squinted less as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight.

"5:30," Sam said without even giving him a glance. Across the parking lot was a two-lane highway. Beyond that, nothing but empty land. He thought a house might be on the horizon, but he wasn't sure.

"5:30? Jesus ... why'd you get up that early?" Dean asked as he pulled on the same shirt he'd worn the day before. "You have another nightmare?"

"I couldn't sleep." He leaned back in the chair as he looked over his shoulder to Dean. "I couldn't stop thinking about Tabitha Jordan."

"Her? _Why_?"

"Something about yesterday." He shrugged as he turned back to the window, the encounter at the school fresh in his mind again. "Did you see the look on her face when you mentioned Jewel Myers?"

Dean hadn't noticed anything. Then, he wasn't too happy with the way she'd treated them the entire time. Where did she get off being such a bitch? "No," he said. He leaned over and grabbed one of the duffels they'd brought in from the car. "Why?"

"I have a feeling she's responsible, accident or not."

"Ha, yes." Dean yanked out a half-full bag of Doritos and opened it. "You think her dad might have somethin' to do with it?" His words were muffled by the chips in his mouth. "Didn't you say he was some super conservative Christian?"

Sam raised an eyebrow slightly. "Yeah. So?"

He shrugged. "Maybe it was the gay thing."

"The gay ... _thing_?"

"Yeah. Aren't all of those guys into the whole 'God Hates Fags' deal? Why would his daughter be any different?" he said, not catching the Look Sam had given him. "She made it pretty clear yesterday she knew Jewel was ... that way. And she didn't like it."

Sam would've addressed Dean's choice of 'that way' over simply saying 'lesbian' if his argument didn't have merit. Steven Jordan had been on the anti-gay rights agenda during his campaign. The issue was the one he'd used any opportunity to spout his closed-minded opinion on to anyone who would listen. A parent's beliefs factored heavily on a child's – Dean was proof of that.

"Or not," he went on when Sam didn't respond. "I'm just sayin', that's all."

Sam gazed out of the window once more. Tonganoxie, Lawrence, all of these towns, even the ones not in Kansas, they had a decidedly more conservative mindset. He'd never noticed how drastically until he went to Stanford. However, not everyone in Middle America shared Steven Jordan's beliefs and not every conservative was like him. It just seemed as though the only people who voted were.

"It couldn't have been easy for her," he murmured.

"For who?"

"Jewel. You know what it's like here, Dean. How some people react to what's different."

"_You_ have experience in being a lesbian in a small town?" asked Dean as his eyebrows arched in semi-amusement. "Dude, where was _I_ during that?"

His face twisted up in aggravation, Sam sighed as he stood then grabbed his jacket from the dresser. "I'm going out," he shortly replied as he opened the door.

"Hey! Sam, I was only screwin' with you!" Dean called. He flinched a bit when the door slammed shut behind Sam. A moment later, he heard the Impala's engine turnover. "Goddamnit!" He bolted to the window just in time to see Sam drive off. "Where the hell is _he_ going?"

-

Tabitha raised her head as the door to the piano room slid open and Audrey leaned inside, a strange expression on her face. "Yes?" she asked, curious as to why she would interrupt her usual practice. The one time of the day she absolutely loathed to be bothered.

"Ms. Jordan, I'm sorry to intrude, but ... one of the gentlemen from yesterday is here." She pressed her lips together. "He insists he speak with you. I explained you were never to be disturbed during this time, but he will not leave."

Her eyes narrowed. She knew exactly which one it was – the one who'd chased her to her car. She'd had a feeling he would be back. She also had a feeling she wouldn't get rid of him with her usual methods.

"Shall I phone the police? He _is_ trespassing."

"No. Show him in, Audrey." She focused on her sheet music, using a pencil to make a few notes on the page. "I'll handle the matter myself."

"Yes, ma'am." The door slid shut.

Sam had been leaning against one of the stucco pillars when Audrey returned to the front doors.

"Ms. Jordan says she'll see you," Audrey reported. She stepped back to allow him inside. "She's in the middle of a session," she continued as she closed the door. "She doesn't appreciate being disturbed when she's working on her music. You shouldn't be surprised if she's short with you."

Tabitha could be _more_ unpleasant than she'd been the day before? "She must be pretty good to be accepted to Juilliard."

Audrey paused. "Yes, she is." She gestured. "Follow me, please."

"Why didn't she go?" Sam asked as he glanced around the hall. The inside of the Jordan home wasn't overly posh. In fact, it felt as though it wasn't lived in – hardly any décor beyond well-tended plants and paintings by more modern artists. Rather Spartan, really.

"You should ask her," Audrey answered as they neared the room. Even down the hall, Sam could hear the piano. He'd heard enough classical to know Tabitha was more than an average talent. She slid the door open then motioned for him to go inside. "Here you are."

"Thanks."

She kept an eye on him for a few moments then left them alone. Still, she kept within shouting distance, should Ms. Jordan need her.

Though she was aware Sam was in the room, Tabitha made no indication of it. Instead, she simply finished the piece then paused before she lifted her head. Sam lingered at the other end of the piano, watching her.

"One of Chopin's Nocturnes, right?" he said as soon as she looked at him.

She folded her sheet music as she stood. It didn't amaze her that someone like him would've been familiar with it. The piece she'd played was one of his two most well-known Nocturnes. "He was one of the finest composers to ever exist," she casually replied. "Not as though _you'd_ know anything about it."

He shrugged. "I think he's overrated. Beethoven was more interesting."

She dropped the music into the bench and laughed. "Beethoven?" she scoffed, her tone as condescending as ever. "Surely something you heard on one of those _awful_ Learning Channel programs!" She sighed, a bit disgusted. "They've no sense of talent or style."

"Actually, I came to the conclusion on my own," he said as he approached her end of the piano.. "They were both part of an introductory course on classical and baroque artists I took at Stanford."

For the first time since she'd met him, Tabitha truly _looked_ at him. The expression on her face was one he'd not seen before. Not exactly 'surprise', but she'd definitely dropped the disdain.

"Well," she murmured after giving him another critical once over. "You certainly don't seem like a person who would've attended a university, let alone a _respectable_ one."

"You don't seem like a person who would audition for Juilliard only to opt for Pre-Law at KU."

She stared at him a moment. "My, didn't you read a lot about me?" She closed the top of the piano bench then glanced at him. Apparently, he expected an answer to an indirect question. "It was better for everyone I remained close to home."

"Why choose Law over music? Doesn't KU have a program of its own?"

She picked up the bag she'd had with her the day before and sifted through the contents. "Music is a hobby, not a career," she evenly stated.

"That's why you auditioned twice?"

Angrily, she slammed the bag on the top of the highly polished piano. "I was sixteen years old. I hadn't a clue as to how the real world worked! I thought it was what I wanted, but my father helped me realize it wasn't."

He gestured to the bag filled with her violin sheet music. "You still apply as much attention to it now. Seems like a lot of work for a simple hobby."

Her eyes narrowed briefly as she shoved the bag onto the floor between them. "Just what is it you want from me?" she demanded. "It can't be related to my schooling decisions."

"Must be intense to be the daughter of Steven Jordan."

"Oh, this is about _him_?"

"No. It's about you. With a man like him for a father, you can't have very much privacy. I was able to read your entire life history on the Internet."

Her lips pursed. "It's a small price to pay as the daughter of the finest prosecutor Johnson County has ever known."

Sam smiled a little. "I'm not a reporter. You don't have to recite the speech for me." He watched her take a seat on the bench. "This can't be an easy existence. Living under a microscope 24/7."

"It isn't as difficult as most people believe."

"Must be tough to keep a secret, though."

She eyed him, suspiciously. "I have no secrets."

"Maybe not _you_, but take what happened to your mother." He shook his head. "Must've been one hell of a spin job to cover that up. Keep it off the record and out of the media."

Her body relaxed. "If one knows the right people, one can create any story one desires." Suddenly, she laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"I just remembered when my father told me the truth about what happened to my mother. Or what he _claims_ is the truth, at any rate." She tilted her head to one side, a faint smile on her face. "He thought it was a warning."

"Why would he think that?"

She placed her palms flat on the bench behind her then leaned back. "Did you know my dad was a defense attorney before he was a prosecutor?"

"No." That was a tiny detail Ash failed to mention to them. "I didn't."

"He was," she said. "He won almost every case. And for people who were almost always guilty." She looked around the room, the smile gone and her expression distant now. "That part of his life, it's why we have all of this. The rest of the world doesn't know where his real money came from. He made certain they didn't. He was comfortable with it in those days, though."

"And then your mother was killed."

She slid her gaze back to him. "He said a demon, in human form, with eerie yellow eyes appeared by my crib one night. Never touched me," she quietly said. "But it killed my mom in a fire. He thought it was a sign he was on the wrong path. Suddenly, he found religion and changed sides. Whatever it was he saw that night, it made my father the man he is today."

Sam thought it interesting how varied people were in their reactions to the demon. His father became obsessed with it, Max's wrote it off as the product of too many drinks, and Mr. Jordan believed it to be a sign.

"What about you?"

Her eyebrows raised. "What do you mean?"

"Did you change?"

"I was a baby."

"I meant more recently. Within the last year or so?"

"Not at all."

"You haven't noticed _anything_ unusual about yourself?" He wasn't sure how to address the issue with this girl. She hadn't been what passed for nice until then, he didn't want to jeopardize it by flat out asking her if she had an ability. And, if so, what kind and was she using it to hurt people?

"Depends on what you mean by 'unusual'. What _do_ you mean?"

"Other people I've met, ones who've had the same experience with the demon, they've developed strange abilities within the last year or so." She didn't move or change expression as he spoke. "Telekinesis or the ability to 'persuade' people to do things."

She slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, but no."

"Maybe something different, then? Anything you weren't capable of before?"

"Nothing." She sat up straight. "What changed for you?"

He looked away. "It's the reason we're even here, in this town."

"Oh?" Her tone of voice reflected a certain amount of interest. "Would you mind telling me?"

She appeared intrigued by it. No one ever had that reaction. Confusion, yes. Intrigue, no. "I can see things before they happen."

"See things? Like visions? Premonitions?"

"You could call it that, I guess."

She nodded, still rather fascinated by the revelation. "And what did you 'see' which brought you here?"

"Jewel Myers' murder."

Tabitha didn't even react, she only gazed up at him for a few seconds. "You did? If that was the case, why didn't you stop it?"

"We tried."

"'We'?"

"My brother and I. He was the one with me yesterday, at the school."

"Mmm, yes. I remember him." She paused before she asked, "Why couldn't you save her?"

"How she was killed in the vision, it didn't match how she actually died. Well, the cause of death was the same – strangulation. But how that happened, it wasn't."

Tabitha's brow furrowed in confusion. "How so?"

"In the vision, Jewel was murdered inside of the high school. Dean and I waited there all night. We never saw her. Or the thing that killed her."

She sighed heavily as she rose to her feet. "Sounds as though this ability of yours is useless. As I understand it, she died in her own bedroom."

"Still, something did it." He studied her. She had the most unreadable face of anyone he'd ever met. She guarded herself extremely well. He watched as she lingered by the fireplace mantle where she gazed upon framed photographs of her family. "You never did tell me how _you_ knew Jewel."

"What business is it of _yours_?" she snapped as she turned away from the mantle.

"Just curious." He glanced around the room. "I've met her family, I've been inside of her house. The two of you don't seem to have a single thing in common." He leveled his gaze on Tabitha. "Except the high school."

She locked her hands behind her back. "I've been using the high school's music room for years. An arrangement my father managed at my request," she explained. "When Jewel began to attend there, I crossed paths with her fairly regularly. She was a cheerleader, involved with several activities which kept her after classes." She shrugged. "She was polite. We said hello every so often."

"Until you found out she was lesbian." He'd tried to keep a judgmental tone from his voice. Still, it irritated him. Tabitha was different herself, whether she admitted it or not, and she chose to alienate another person based on sexual preference.

"It was more than that," Tabitha said as she took measured steps toward him. Her eyes never wavered from his. "She developed an inane crush on me, she refused to leave me alone despite my repeated requests she do so." She came to a halt a few feet in front of Sam. "However, it was impossible for her to accept the fact I was not interested in her. And never would be. As a result, I went to great lengths to avoid her until she graduated." A slight smile appeared on her face as she gazed up at him. "There. Does that ... _satisfy_ your curiosity?"

It didn't explain why Jaina hated her so much, but Sam couldn't tell if Tabitha was lying to him. Usually, he could pick up clues through body language, eye movement, voice inflections – not with her. Either she was telling the truth or she was the greatest liar since Stephen Glass.

"For now," he finally answered.

"Good." Her smile remained as she cocked her head to the left. "Perhaps you could return the favor?"

However, if there _was_ one thing he could pick up it was how differently she regarded him now. Ever since he'd mentioned Stanford, Tabitha's manner had changed. As though she didn't consider him a waste of her time.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"No."

"You were looking at me rather strangely. I thought something might be wrong."

"You wanted to ask me about -"

"Yes," she cut in as her arms fell to her sides. "About this so-called 'demon'. You haven't told me _why_ it would be interested in me, or do all of these things you claim it has. Obviously, it must have a reason."

"We don't know the details, but it's big."

"And how big is 'big'?"

"A full scale war between us and them."

"Ah." She pivoted on her heel, turning her back on him. "Well, I have plans and dreams of my own. None of them include a demon or a war." She pivoted again. "Since I haven't any abilities, perhaps I'm not a part of this? According to you, I should have a strange power by now, correct? Maybe you're mistaken about me."

"I doubt it."

She sighed once more as she checked her watch. "Honestly, I simply do not have time to discuss this any further today," she said. "If you're quite finished with your business, would you mind leaving? I've a lot to attend to."

"Something more important than _this_?"

"A friend of my father's from Harvard Law is due to visit in a few days," she replied as she walked to the open doorway. She leaned against the door-frame and looked back to him. "Because of the campaign, I took a year off. I'd hoped to begin in the Spring but I might not be able."

"You're going to Harvard Law?" It shouldn't have surprised him, still, it did. It was so difficult to be accepted there, and Tabitha acted like it was no big deal.

"Of course. My father went there. It's been his dream for me to follow in his footsteps. After everything he's done for me, it's the least I could do for him."

For once, Sam felt something other than annoyance or pity for Tabitha, he empathized. Also, he found it ironic that what she felt obligated to do for her father was what he'd _chosen_ to do to rebel against his.

"It's hard to break away from what your father expects of you," he murmured as he joined her by the doorway.

She snorted. "What would you know of it?"

"My dad wanted me to be like my brother, go into the family business. I went to school instead. It pushed us even farther apart."

She smirked, slightly amused. "I can't fathom _your_ father doing anything of consequence."

Lucky for her, Dean wasn't there. Girl or not, he would've punched her teeth down her throat for that. Though he felt like doing it himself, Sam merely shrugged and replied, "He died trying to help people. People like us."

Her eyes darkened. "I'm _nothing_ like _you_," she hissed. With that, she used both of her hands to violently shove him into the hallway. Then, she slid the door shut in his face.

Sam stood there, stunned, and wondered what the hell had just happened. For ten minutes, she was actually pleasant. Then, suddenly, she was her old self. It was almost as though she hated to think of him as being equal to her, the disgust and rancor in her voice when she'd said it. He was beginning to agree with Dean, maybe she was just a -

Inside of the room, he could hear Tabitha playing the piano once more. This time, though, it wasn't classical, it was much simpler. After a few bars, he recognized it as an old lullaby - "All Through The Night". He didn't remember it himself, but Dean said their mother sang it to Sam when he was a baby.

Because of that, their father wouldn't allow either of them to even _mention_ it in his presence. What he didn't know, was Dean would sing it for Sam when he wasn't around. Years later, however, Sam came to the conclusion Dean did it more to comfort himself than his little brother.

"May I show you to the door?"

Sam turned to find Audrey beside him. "No, thanks. I can find my own way out."

-

End Chapter Four


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five 

-

Dean flipped through the television stations as he lay on his bed, his back propped up against the headboard with his free hand tucked behind his head. He sighed. Daytime TV sucked, and it seemed like the local news was constantly on. They'd moved on from the Myers murder, in favor of a multiple homicide somewhere in northwestern Missouri. At this point, he would've been happy with a damn _Andy Griffith_ rerun.

A heavy knock on the door snapped him out of his channel-surfing daze. He clicked the TV off as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, then waited. Another insistent knock prompted him to grab the 9MM on the nightstand. If there was one thing he'd learned over the years – demons weren't below being polite, especially if it made their target easier to kill.

He kept the gun behind his back as he carefully approached the door. At least he knew it wasn't the cops. They either kicked in the door or made a big show of announcing their presence, a practice he never did understand. It was like giving criminals a head-start. Not that he didn't appreciate a head-start.

Once at the door, he kept to the side as he unlocked it. The chain, however, was still in place. Like that would keep anyone out, anyway. When he cracked the door, his thumb released the safety on the gun.

"Took you long enough!"

He was surprised to find Jaina glaring through the crack at him. He almost didn't recognize her. She'd pulled her hair into a ponytail and, he guessed, she'd put on make-up. His eyes narrowed. "How the hell did you find us?" he suspiciously asked.

"When you left yesterday, I overheard you say something about a motel," she replied. She glanced over her shoulder at the parking lot and added, "This is the second one within reasonable driving distance I've checked."

Dean looked past her and saw the red Corolla parked where his Impala had been, before Sam went all grand theft auto earlier. "And they just give out guest information to anybody who asks?"

"When you're friends with the guy who works the counter, they do. I asked if two guys in a crappy black Chevy checked in lately, he pointed me here." She eyed him. "Funny – the names you registered under aren't _anything_ like what you told my mom."

"So? And that car is _not_ crappy, it's a _classic_," Dean defensively replied. "You'd better show her the respect she deserves."

She stared at him, mouth slightly agape, before she rolled her eyes. "What_ever_," she sighed. "Are you gonna let me in or not?"

His thumb lingered on the safety. He wasn't convinced Jaina was Jaina. If the demon was involved, it might be trying to finish the job it started a few months ago with a Mack truck.

Jaina let out a frustrated breath. "Look, I'm not gonna _rape_ you or anything." She put her hands on her hips. "I just need to talk to you."

He scoffed lightly. He had a feeling this was the _real_ Jaina Myers. He closed the door, removed the chain and swung it back open, then made a sweeping gesture with his empty hand.

"_Finally_!"

He watched her enter the room and shut the door. He was careful to keep his gun behind his back as he faced her. She hadn't noticed he was armed, fortunately. At the moment, she stood in the middle of the room, shaking her head.

"Man, if this place wasn't a dump already ..." She glanced at him. "What is all of this junk?" She made her way over to one of the bags Sam had brought in from the car. "What's in here? It smells like year old Chinese food. Unless it _is_ year old Chinese food ..."

Quickly, he rushed forward and kicked the duffel away before she could get a good look inside of it. He didn't want to have to explain the crap in it. "You should stay out of other people's stuff," he said, a bit of an edge of his voice.

Jaina held up her hands. "All right! Jesus, chill out." She looked around the room again. "It's a lotta luggage and ..." She poked at the pile of papers Sam left on his own bed. "... other stuff."

Dean put himself between her and Sam's notes. "What's in it ain't your business."

"And what's going on at _my_ house is public domain?" she shot back. It was then she noticed he still had one hand behind his back. She motioned to him. "What are you hiding?" She leaned to the left, trying to get a glimpse.

"It's nothing," he shortly said. Goddamn, this girl was annoying.

"If it's 'nothing', why are you hiding it? Show it to me."

"No."

"If you don't, I'll have Robbie call the cops." She saw the subtle change in Dean's expression at the mention of the police. She grinned a little. "He'll tell 'em you're drug dealers, that always gets the local cops' asses moving. And I have a suspicion _you_ don't want to see any 5-0."

He gritted his teeth. He wished he hadn't opened the door. Still, the last thing he needed was the damned cops on his ass. Finally, he showed it to her. "There. Now, you wanna tell me why you went through so much trouble to track us down?"

She stared at the gun a few moments before she looked to him. "Why do you have that?"

"It's not unusual for someone to own a gun. This _is_ a conceal and carry state, right?"

"Is it because of that job you mentioned?"

He nodded.

"What kind of work are you guys in that you need guns, if you aren't cops? Speaking of - " Her brow furrowed as she scanned the entire room before focusing on Dean again. "Where _is_ the other guy?"

"He's out." Dean placed the gun back on the nightstand. "Why don't you tell me what you want?"

Her eyes shifted from the gun to him. "When you said you wanted to help Jewel, did you mean it?"

"It's what we do."

"So ... there's nothing in it for you? You don't, like, want _money_ or anything?"

"We're self-funded." It wasn't a lie, they were.

She studied him a few seconds. "If I tell you something, you gotta keep it between us. Okay? _Nobody_ else knows."

"I have to tell Sam."

She frowned.

"He's the 'other guy'. Don't worry, whatever it is, it'll stay here."

Her hands kneaded together as she sat down on Dean's bed. "I didn't get a chance to talk about Julie yesterday." She looked at him as he shoved the papers out of his way and took a seat on Sam's bed. "I'm sorry about that, too. It's just ... a lotta jagoffs have been hanging around the house. It's difficult. My mom's a mess. She might not have said it, but she had real hope for my sister. She could've been something. More than me, anyway. You know what I'm saying?"

"I have an idea." He'd felt the same way about Sam. He'd never tell him that, not even on his death bed, and he'd been there twice already.

She sighed heavily. "Jewel, she kept a few things about herself a secret."

"You mean the whole gay thing?"

She stared at him, stunned. "W-what did you say?"

"Uh." Panic washed over him. Had he and Sam assumed the wrong thing about Jewel? Maybe Tabitha didn't mean gay as in ... gay. Great. Now he'd made an ass out of himself in front of the sister. "Right?" he finished, more like a question than an answer.

"I ... I don't understand. Jewel never told anybody besides my mom, me and few of her close friends." Her eyes narrowed. "How did _you _find out?"

"Tabitha Jordan."

Her eyes widened. "She _told_ you?"

"Yeah." Why was she so damn surprised?

"Let me get this straight: Tabitha Jordan, daughter of Mr. Homoseuality-Is-Destroying-The-American-Family, told _you_, a complete stranger, that she's bi?"

Dean nodded then he froze. "_What_? Run the last part by me again. Tabitha's ... what?"

"Bisexual. She goes both ways in the sexual sense?" She noticed the expression he wore. "She didn't mention that small fact to you, did she?"

"She pretty much left it out." Dammit, where the hell was Sam? He needed to be here. Not only to hear this, but so Dean would know he hadn't fallen into some weird alternate reality.

Jaina bit her lower lip. "I thought it was strange, that she'd tell you." She frowned. "Her paranoia and secrecy are what made Jewel finally dump her."

"_Whoa!_" Dean held up his hands as he suddenly stood. "Whoa ... _dump_ her?" he repeated. "That would mean they were -"

He didn't say it. The idea of two chicks together didn't disgust him, especially two good-lookin' ones, not by a long shot. It was just _Tabitha Jordan_ was one of them.

Jaina's hands balled into fists as she jumped to her feet. "You have a problem with gay people?" she angrily snarled.

"Huh?" He realized she was practically in his face and instinctively stepped back. "What? No! I – Well -" He stumbled over his words like a drunk man coming home after a weekend long bender. "It's just ... a surprise. She didn't -"

"She didn't what?!" Her eyes narrowed. "_Look_ gay?"

"Yeah. _No!_" he quickly corrected himself. Goddamnit, why did Sam have to pick _today_ to run off like a friggin' pissy five-year-old? Dean knew his limitations, and dealing with this was beyond his capacity. "I didn't mean it like - "

"Then how _did_ you mean it?" she cut in. Her face grew red as her hands balled into fists at her sides. "The last idiot who made stupid gay comments in front of me ended up in the hospital." She looked him up and down. "You ain't much bigger than Alex Bellamy, either."

Dean paused then asked, "Did you say 'Alex Bellamy'?" He turned around and picked up the copy of the article from Sam's stuff. He held it up, so she could see it. "Is this him?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Did he know Tabitha, too?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "They weren't friends, but they knew each other. Jewel graduated with him, though. She couldn't stand him. He didn't have a clue she was gay, so he was always asking her out. She wasn't interested. Not that she would've been even if she wasn't a lesbian. He was a revolting jerk. What does he have to do with anything?"

Finally, a connection between the two victims and Tabitha. She was a part of it, but was it voluntary or, like Sam was so desperate to believe, involuntarily?

"How did Tabitha know him?"

Jaina glanced at the picture again, then said, "It wasn't a big deal. Julie and the bitch ran into him in Lawrence, October before last. Wasn't long before she broke it off with her, come to think."

"What happened?"

"He saw them at the Granada. It's a -"

"A club in Lawrence." Off of her surprised look, he added, "I used to live there. What was the big deal about him seeing them together?"

"They were making out at the time. He started to give them shit, said he was gonna tell the whole world Steve Jordan's daughter was a dyke." She shrugged. "Tabitha swore he'd never have the chance. Next morning, he's found dead in his own house."

Dean looked at the paper. Dead, after threatening to expose her. Jewel must've done something recently to piss her off. She had motive. He was losing any hope the deaths were accidental. Not because he particularly cared about Tabitha Jordan, but Sam couldn't take another hit like this.

"What's with the face?"

He lifted his head. "What?"

"That weird face." She raised an eyebrow. "You're not thinkin' Tabitha killed him, are you? She's a lotta things, but I can't see her being a murderer."

"I'm not thinkin' anything right now," he said. He needed Sam to come back, that was the only thing he was thinking.

"You know the cops actually dragged _me_ in after his murder?"

"Why?"

"Because of my getting him acquainted with a metal folding chair," she replied with a slight laugh. "Sophomore year. Like I said, he was harassing Jewel about going out with him. She said no. He called her a 'slut' and a 'lesbo'. It really upset her." Her features hardened. "So I made sure he knew he shouldn't do it again."

"And put him in the hospital," Dean concluded.

She smirked. "Got me expelled and banned from Tongie High. Had to drive all the way to Basehor-Linwood for three years."

Then it made sense – why she wasn't in the yearbooks with Jewel. He couldn't say he was surprised.

Jaina was about to say something else when she caught sight of the 2003-04 yearbook laying on the dresser. She picked it up, flipped it open to the pages marked with bits of paper. It was all related to Jewel. "Where did you get this?" she asked. Dean saw the suspicious gleam in her eyes as she held up the book. "And why do you have everything about Julie marked?"

"Jaina -" he started as she backed away from him.

"Who the hell _are_ you?" she demanded. "Who has stuff like this?" She waved the book. "And guns and bags of stinky crap and uses fake names everywhere?" She shook her head. "Whatever it is, it ain't good."

"It's not what you're thinkin' -"

"Then what _is_ it?" she snapped. "How is it you show up so quickly after Jewel's murder? And know so much about her? Then you lie to my _mom_ ..."

"Jaina. Shit," he muttered as she bolted for the door. He managed to reach it in time to slam it shut before she could escape. "Just wait a minute, and I'll ex-"

She whirled around and used the flat side of the book to smack him across the face. Dean rolled his jaw, wincing at the pain. _That_ was gonna sting for a while. Still, he kept a hand firmly on the door, slapping the book away before she could cold-clock him again with it.

"Would you let me explain why -"

She started to scream, but it was cut short by him clamping his free hand over her mouth. In response, she struggled. She might've thought she was pretty tough, however, he had the advantage. Years of wrestling with demons, monsters, and vampires made keeping _her_ in once place fairly easy.

"Listen, my real name is Dean, and I didn't hurt your sister," he calmly explained. "Sam and I are trying to find out who or what _did_, so we can stop it before it kills somebody else." He paused. She settled down, but she still had fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry we lied to you and your mom. We didn't lie about wanting to help, though. If we're gonna do that, you have to trust me."

She blinked a few times then nodded.

"No screaming?"

She shook her head.

"Hey, I don't have a problem hitting _you_ if you go at me again," he warned.

Her eyes rolled.

Slowly, he removed his hand and stepped back.

Jaina folded her arms across her chest. "So, you wanna tell me who you think killed my sister?" she quietly asked.

"We're not sure."

"But you think Tabitha is involved?"

Dean half-shrugged. "Maybe. Whatever it is we're lookin' for, though, we've never encountered it before."

"Encountered? This in reference to your mysterious job?" When he nodded, she went on. "You gonna tell me _exactly_ what it is?"

They'd always tried to avoid this as much as possible. Not only to cut down on the "are you guys nuts?" reactions, but ignorance was definitely bliss. Civilians didn't -need- to be involved, it was easier that way. For everyone.

"We're sorta like cops," he started.

He never knew how much to tell the uninitiated about what he and Sam did. To someone with no experiences, it came off as crazy. He envied Jaina and people like her. He'd always wondered what that was like, to _not_ know about the world below the candy-coated one most people lived in.

"We hunt down things of an ... otherworldly nature."

"Like aliens?"

"No."

She waited. "So? What, then?"

"Demons, vampires, ghosts, everything you ever thought was a myth – it's real."

She stared at him for several moments. "You guys couldn't get a 9-to-5 or something?"

"If you don't want to believe me, fine." He opened the door and motioned outside. "Just leave. We're trying to save lives, I don't have time to stand around and bullshit with you."

Her jaw clenched but she didn't move. "You're serious about this?"

"As a heart attack. You want to help or not?"

She relaxed, her arms dropping to her sides. "What can _I_ do?"

Dean went back to Sam's bed then picked up another sheet of paper. "This." He held it out to her. "Is what we're lookin' for."

Jaina studied the paper then looked to him. "It's a big blob. Is this one of those psych tests?" She saw the expression on his face. "Sorry. No. I don't know what it is. And if you've never come across it before, how do you even know what it _looks_ like? Or that it's responsible?"

Dean avoided direct eye contact with her as he dropped the paper back onto Sam's bed. He definitely didn't plan to tell her the whole truth about Sam and his ability. "Sam, he saw it happen in a dream. More like a premonition. It wasn't long before your sister was killed."

"He saw what happened to her?"

"Not _exactly_." He finally looked her in the eye. "What he saw and how she actually died, it doesn't match. This thing chased her into the high school, then strangled her to death. Nothin' like what actually happened."

Her face blanched. "He ... _saw_ that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He noticed how pale she'd become. "What's wrong?"

"It's ..." Her hands kneaded together as she walked away from him. "It's ..." She shook her head as she turned to face him. "What he saw? It sounds like this nightmare Jewel's had for years. It would freak her out so bad, she'd come to my room in the middle of the night."

"It was just like that?"

"Yeah." She watched him grab up the yearbook. "What is it?"

He found the page Sam had dogeared, the one with the color photo of Jewel and her cheerleading team. "In his dream, these lockers were gray." He showed her the picture.

She nodded. "That's what color they were when Jewel went there. I think they changed the color this year. Or maybe it was last?"

"And she hasn't been inside the school since graduation?"

"Once. But it was about a month afterwards. They were still gray. Why is that important?"

"She has a recurring nightmare just like Sam's vision, the lockers are the same color as when she went to school there," he murmured as he studied the picture of the cheerleading team. "Something's missing. What?"

Jaina couldn't figure out if he was talking to her or himself. "I don't understand one thing - why does Tabitha matter?"

"After your sister ... dumped her, did Tabitha act strange?"

Her eyebrows scrunched together. "She called a lot afterwards. She finally got the message after three months." She contemplated on it a few moments. "But ... she _did_ call again about a week ago. She found out Jewel was going to move to New York City with some friends, after Christmas."

"Did she tell you what Tabitha said?"

She snorted. "She's my little sister, she tells me everything. Tabitha wanted to work things out, but Jewel said it was over. She had a new life ahead of her. Guess she said some strange stuff, too, because Julie was kinda freaked out."

"Strange stuff?"

"She told Julie she'd never escape her, not even in her dreams." She rolled her eyes. "Talk about melodramatic!" The sound of the Impala pulling up to the motel caught the attention of both. Jaina, however, suddenly became uncomfortable. "Hey, I gotta go. Jewel's funeral is tomorrow morning." She headed for the still open door. "Got a lot to do. And my mom's at home alone, which she shouldn't be."

"Dean?" Sam's voice called out. The next instant, he came into the room and bumped into Jaina.

"Sorry," she quickly apologized as she stepped around Sam. She stopped in the door way and looked over her shoulder to Dean. "And ... thank you." After a glance at Sam, she hurried out.

Sam shifted his gaze from the open door to Dean. "What was _she_ doing here? And ... 'thank you'? Do I want to know?"

Dean grabbed Sam by the jacket and pulled him farther into the room. After he kicked the door shut, he pointed to the nearest bed. "You need to sit down for this one."

-

End Chapter Five


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six 

-

Sam only stared at Dean once he'd finished relating what Jaina Myers told him. Tabitha had a secret of her own, one which had nothing to do with the demon. It put a different light on their conversation at her house earlier. Also, it explained why she was such a good liar – she'd been doing it for a long time, covering up who she truly was.

"I'm thinkin' Miss Priss used whatever ability she has to kill the both of them," Dean was saying as Sam realized he was even talking. "The guy because he was gonna tell her little gay secret. Jewel Myers because she didn't want anything to do with her snobby ass anymore." He shook his head as he studied the ceiling. "We just need the 'how'."

"It sounds paranoid to me."

He sat up on his bed, surprised. "Now _you're_ saying she isn't involved?"

"She's _involved_, yes. I ... just don't think she killed anyone. Or if she did, it wasn't on purpose."

"Really? And why the hell's that?"

"Because I actually _talked_ to her, Dean. She has a lot ahead of her. Why would she jeopardize that? Or her father?"

"Max didn't exactly scream '_Carrie_' when we first met him -"

Sam stood up. "She's not like him," he cut in, frustrated.

"Why? Because she went to college? She's rich? She can play a friggin' violin?" He didn't like the glare he was getting from Sam now. "Do you have any idea what would happen if people found out she's ... " He trailed off.

He mirthlessly laughed. "Suddenly _you're_ the expert on being a lesbian in a small town?" he said. Before Dean could respond, he continued. "You ever think she might not have meant to hurt anyone?"

"So she has one?"

"She won't admit it, but she does. She _has_ to."

"If she doesn't, it means the fire's a coincidence. Then Ash was wrong."

He recalled the story Tabitha had told him about the night her mother died. "Ash isn't wrong. She's definitely like me."

"Which puts us back at square one – why was the vision you had not like how Jewel was killed?"

Sam shrugged as he sat down on his own bed, sighing. "I don't know. Something's missing, something we haven't noticed."

"Or it's another demon entirely." Off of Sam's curious expression, he added, "And it's presence is masked by Tabitha's being here. We're focused on the wrong thing." He shrugged. "Could be why the vision was wrong."

"_Another_ demon?"

"Yeah. Maybe the Mara or something."

"The Mara? Why would you suspect them?"

"They're nightmare demons, aren't they?" He looked over to Sam who waited for elaboration. "It was because of something the girl told me. I never said it _was_ the Mara, just a suggestion."

"What did she tell you?"

"The vision you had, it was exactly like a recurring nightmare of her sister's."

"You didn't think that was important when you told me everything _else_?"

"Well, it didn't really -"

Suddenly, something clicked in Sam's mind on a subconscious level. Memories of nightmares from over a year ago flooded into his head, of things he'd come to realize were visions of actual murders later on. In his mind, he relieved a certain one, with a familiar participant – Alex Bellamy.

The kid, terrified by something chasing him, ran through an open field. It was nearly pitch black, hardly enough light for him to even see where he was going, as a result, he continually tripped over his own feet. Soon, he reached an open, deserted two-lane highway, where he stopped.

As he caught his breath, seemingly out of nowhere, a speeding car plowed into him. His body slammed against the windshield, tumbled over the top of the car and landed at an odd angle. The car itself, however, continued down the highway, without even braking.

In the middle of the road, Alex Bellamy's broken and twisted body lay motionless while blood quickly pooled around his head ...

"SAM!"

He blinked when Dean shook him, hard. His dazed expression remained for a moment then he moved past him to grab the photocopy.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked as he watched Sam read through the article for the hundredth time.

"I know where I've seen Alex before," Sam replied, his tone a bit distant. He shook his head – it was almost impossible to believe, but it was beginning to make sense. "It was in a vision, when they were still nightmares." He looked to Dean. "It wasn't long before you came to California, before we went searching for Dad." He held up the paper. "Look at the injuries. The cause of death. Doesn't it sound like someone who was hit by a car?"

Dean read through it then half-shrugged. "How could he have been hit by a car, though, Sam? He was found in his bed."

Sam lowered the paper. "What if he _wasn't_ in his bed when it happened?" he said. "In his _mind_, at least?"

"How's that possible?"

"A dream." Sam pointed to another section of the article, one he'd not considered until that moment. "His parents were killed in a car crash when he was young. That kind of thing gets inside of your head, creates deep-seated fears which become nightmares when we're asleep. It explains everything, Dean. Why the vision of how Jewel actually died didn't match what happened, but it was _exactly_ like a nightmare of hers. Why only the cause of death was same, in her case and in Alex's."

"How the hell can a _dream_ kill you? We've all died in them at some point, it doesn't happen to us in reality."

Sam considered the argument, Dean had a point. Then he remembered Tabitha's warning to Jewel Myers. "What if that's her ability? To make dreams real?"

Dean just stared at him. The idea of it scared the shit out of him. If someone could actually _do_ it ... "How, though?"

"The mind understands dreams and nightmares are a faux reality. It's why you can be hurt or killed in one without it doing any harm in real life." He saw the confusion still in Dean's eyes. "The mind interprets what it sees in the dream as real, which is why the body manifests the injuries received. Alex was hit by a car – massive internal bleeding, shattered bones, subdural hematoma. Get it?"

Slowly, he nodded as he understood. "So ... it's like _The Matrix_. Your mind makes it real."

Leave it to Dean to find a cinematic equivalent. "Same principle. With no safety net in the subconscious, a nightmare is potentially deadly."

As out there as it was, even for them, Dean had to admit it explained everything. "All right, now what do we do? Our track record with the kids who've gone nuts isn't great, Sam."

"That's only if Tabitha doesn't realize she's hurting people. If it's happening in a dreamworld, it's possible _she_ thinks it's a dream, too."

"Wouldn't she have figured out it wasn't a coincidence after Alex Bellamy?"

Sam hesitated, he wanted to give Tabitha the benefit of the doubt. Not every kid out there was a lost cause like Max or Andrew's brother, he had to believe it. What he couldn't figure out was why Dean was so convinced every kid they ran into lately was beyond hope or help. What was his problem?

"We'll be careful when we talk to her," he finally answered.

"So we're goin' now?"

"No."

Dean stopped and turned. "Why not?"

"There's no way she'll talk to me again. Not today," he said. "Just give it until tomorrow. She won't have reason to hurt anyone between now and then, whether she's doing it on purpose or not."

"You sure? Because if _you_ pissed her off -"

He shook his head. " was immune to Andy's persuasion, so it would be logical to assume I'm safe in my own dreams."

Dean dropped his coat. As much as he hated the idea of waiting, it was obvious Sam wasn't gonna budge. "Your logic had better assume right, little brother, or your next nightmare might be your _last_."

-

He wasn't sure how or why he was there, but Sam found himself standing in front of the old house in Lawrence. The darkness surrounding everything gave off a sinister air. Not a single sound could be heard. It felt like the Stephen King movie Dean had forced him to watch years ago, where the passengers of a plane who'd happened to fall asleep during the flight woke up in the past. Nothing had any life to it anymore.

The house itself was dark, almost as though it was abandoned. The place had fallen into disarray. Up and down the street, no other house could be seen. Whether it was because of the unusual black of the night or they weren't there, he couldn't tell for sure. In fact, the only light - a mysterious orangish-yellow glow - came from an upper level window. The room where she'd died.

Why was he here? Why would he dream about this place?

In the next moment, Dean, armed with only a shotgun, stepped up beside him. He narrowed his eyes at the house briefly, then walked forward.

"Dean?" Sam waited but he didn't respond. He sprinted after him, calling out louder, "Dean!" His hand reached out to grab Dean's shoulder but, to his surprise, his hand passed straight through him, like Dean wasn't real. Or _Sam _wasn't.

The sound of a door being kicked open forced Sam's head to snap up. "Wait!" he yelled as Dean disappeared into the darkness of the house.

Sam slid to a halt just inside of the front door and looked around. The house appeared as though it hadn't been lived in for years. No furniture, the wallpaper fell away from the walls themselves in various places, and an inch of dust blanketed everything. A thump made him turn to find Dean, shotgun gripped in both hands now, carefully ascending the staircase.

"Dean." It was quite obvious his brother couldn't hear or see him. Unable to do anything else, Sam followed him. If it was a dream, why wasn't Dean aware he even there? Unless it wasn't _his_ dream ... If it was a vision, it was unlike any other he'd experienced before.

At the top of the stairs, Dean paused. Sam looked from him to the end of the hall. The weak orangish-yellow light illuminated the whole open doorway. When the Winchesters had lived in the house, it was Sam's nursery. Dean had told Sam he had nightmares about the place whenever he was too close. What was this nightmare about? And why was he seeing it?

As he trailed behind Dean, Sam spotted a dark silhouette looming ahead inside of the room. Whoever it was seemed familiar to him. At least from the back. The person didn't seem to notice Dean creeping closer. The expression on Dean's face unsettled him, probably because he never saw that level of fear, anxiety and anger together there at once. Dean's finger began to squeeze the trigger, but before he could the stranger whirled around, revealing his identity.

Sam reacted differently than Dean, who only kept his finger curled around the trigger. He stepped closer, his eyes wide in shock as well as confusion. "Dad?" he whispered.

Both quickly melted away, however, when he realized it wasn't truly their father. He was possessed by the yellow-eyed demon. _This_ was what Dean had been dreaming about the last two nights? For a moment, Sam was angry. Angry Dean felt the need to keep stuff like this from him.

"You're too late," the demon-possessed John Winchester stated as he approached Dean. A sinister grin was planted on his face, his freakish gaze never leaving Dean's. "You can't save him."

Dean squeezed the trigger. The spray of lead shot was diverted into the ceiling as 'John's' hand pushed the barrel of the gun upwards. Bits of wood and sheetrock rained down on them as he yanked the weapon from Dean's hands then threw it across the room. It hit one of the walls with such force the gun broke nearly in half.

"You never had a chance," he chuckled as he stood mere inches away from Dean. "He's always belonged to me."

Eyes burning with a rage Sam had come to recognize in his brother more and more these days, Dean shook his head. "No."

The demon leaned forward, his voice low as he murmured into Dean's ear, "You remember what Daddy told you, hmm?" He paused, as if to let it sink into his head.

Sam saw the expression on Dean's face go through a myriad of emotions – anger, fear, desperation then, finally, sadness. What did _that_ mean? Sam wondered. What did Dad tell him?

One of his hands rested on Dean's shoulder, very gently. "You know everything," he continued to speak calmly and softly. "You can't stop what's already begun."

"No!" Dean yelled as he tried to grab the demon masquerading as his father by the throat with his hands. Almost instantly, he was slammed back against the wall by an invisible force. Slowly, he was lifted off of the floor by it. "I'll kill you," he growled. "I swear to God, I'll make you wish you never fucking crawled out of Hell."

The sinister smile returned as the demon's head tilted to the left slightly. "No, you won't."

Dean screamed as the unseen force pushed against his entire body.

"Dean!" Sam dove at his 'father', but he only tumbled right through him, like his hand had done when he'd tried to touch Dean, outside of the house. He landed on the floor, then looked up at the two of them. Why was this happening? This wasn't anything like the visions for Alex or Jewel. He was actually there. Worse yet, he was powerless to do anything to save Dean.

"You won't," the demon continued, "Because you _can't_."

"I won't let you take him from me!"

Suddenly, Dean sailed across the room and slammed against the other side so hard, he put a hole in the drywall before he dropped into a pile on the filthy floor. After a couple of seconds, he placed the palms of both hands on the hardwood, pushed himself up before hacking up a mixtures of blood and spit. His eyes narrowed on the demon as it came towards him.

Once it was close enough, he forced a laugh. "That ... all you ... got?" he wheezed.

'John' crouched down in front of Dean, cocking his head to the side again. "I never could figure it out – are you stubborn? Or are you just _stupid_?"

Dean winced, the bloody saliva dripped from his lower lip and onto the floor. "Depends on who ya ask," he rasped. He coughed and spat at the demon's feet. "What d'you think?"

The demon took Dean's chin into a hand then lifted it so he would look him in the eyes. "Only fools fight battles they've already lost."

He weakly smiled. "Never could keep my head on straight when family was concerned."

"Then you'll die knowing your own flaws killed you." The other hand clamped onto the back of Dean's head, then -

"NO!" Sam shouted as he leaped toward them. Just before he hit the wall himself, he heard the sickening 'snap' of his brother's neck ...

-

"NO!!"

Sat sat straight up in bed, his heart racing, and his body drenched in a cold sweat. As he drew in several deep breaths, he realized it really was just a dream. No, not a dream – a _nightmare_. He buried his face in the palms of his hands, trying desperately to get that horrible image out of his mind. His 'father' and Dean ... Some strange nightmare - _Dean's_ nightmare. But he knew it was more than that: it was also a vision. One with which he'd been far too involved.

His hands slid down his face as he looked over to the bed next to him. Dean, still in his jeans and a plain white T-shirt, lay face down on it, with his head rested against the mattress and one arm hung limply over the edge. He appeared to be asleep. Or was he?

"Dean!"

He practically jumped from his bed to the other. Startled by Sam landing on him, Dean slid forward and out of bed. He hit the floor hard, all of his weight piling onto the arm which had been hanging over the side. As he rolled onto his back, he used his other hand to massage his shoulder.

"Dude, what the hell?!" he exclaimed as he glared at Sam. "What's your friggin' problem?"

Relieved Dean was still alive, Sam relaxed. "Nothing."

He muttered a curse under his breath as he got up. "Then why are you jumping on me? You're not exactly light, Sam." He frowned as his hand dropped to his side and he rolled his sore shoulder. "I think you sprained my damn arm, too." He saw the look on Sam's face. "What's wrong, man?"

"I had another vision, the dream ones," he quietly replied. "I think it was _yours_."

Dean gazed at him blankly for almost a full minute before he asked, "What did you see?"

Sam was careful in relaying what he'd seen and heard in the vision; it was disturbing enough the first time around. The only portion he eliminated entirely was the bit about their father being possessed by the demon. He'd had trouble telling Dean he was killed at the end. Though, since it was his nightmare, he more than likely already knew. Didn't mean Sam had to say it.

Dean did know. "That's the dream I've had the last three nights," he casually replied once Sam had finished. He lifted his head and looked to Sam, who now paced back and forth in front of him.

"You didn't mention it involved you _dying_," Sam snapped. He hadn't meant to do it, but he was angry all over again.

"Yeah, well, there are a lotta things I never told you," Dean said as he stared down at his hands which were clasped together.

"What did the demon mean? What Dad told you? And 'you can't save him now'? Was he talking about me?"

Dean sighed as he stood up suddenly. "How the hell should _I_ know?" he muttered as he turned his back on Sam. He couldn't let him see his face.

"It's _your_ dream," he shot back. He moved so he was in front of Dean. "Nightmares are manifestations of subconscious fears or problems."

Dean walked away from him, waving a hand in a dismissive manner. "Just ... leave the Psych 101 crap out of it," he murmured. "I don't have any idea what it means." He waited a moment. "You didn't mention it."

"Mention what?"

"Dad was there."

"That was _not_ Dad."

"You still left it out." He looked over his shoulder. "I don't need you trying to protect me. I'm the older brother – that's my job. I protect _you_."

"We watch out for each other. Just like Dad told us to."

A half-hearted smile appeared on Dean's face as he placed a hand on the back of Sam's neck. "You need it more than me, little brother." His smile faded and he left Sam standing there, confused.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He watched Dean simply change into a different shirt. "Are you even listening to me?"

Dean kept his back to Sam. He couldn't look him in the eye now. After he'd seen everything in that nightmare, he was already asking too many questions. "Guess this chick has it in for me, huh?" he commented then chuckled lightly. "Par for the course."

If he thought it would do any good, Sam would've punched Dean straight in the face. What was he keeping from him? Instead, he only said, "If it _was_ a vision ..."

Dean just smiled. "When have we _ever_ had the same nightmare, Sam? I never saw you in any of them, not even last night's. This wasn't normal. You should be used to that by now, weird as you are."

"If it is a vision, it doesn't mean she 'has it in' for you. What could _you_ have done to her? I'm the one who made her mad yesterday." He paused as he watched Dean sit down on his own bed. "And ... she might not mean it, either."

"Sam, I have serious respect for your ability to believe in people, but not everyone is as good as you are." He looked up from tying his boots. "One of these days, you're gonna have to realize some of them are just as evil as the monsters we protect them from. Even people like Tabitha."

Sam's jaw clenched as Dean finished with his shoes. "She's not an evil person," he quietly said. He kept his eyes on Dean, who slipped on his jacket. "Where are you going?"

"Jewel Myers' funeral." He checked his watch. It was a little after 10 AM. "They should be past the service by now." He picked up his car keys and headed for the door.

"You can't just leave! What about Tabitha?"

Dean, hand on the doorknob, turned. "What do you expect us to do, Sam?"

"Talk to her, at least."

He pointed at him with one of the keys. "_You_ did that already. Didn't turn out the way you'd hoped."

"I'm not going to sit here, Dean. For whatever reason, you're next." He grabbed Dean by the collar of his jacket - surprising him - before he could step outside of the room. "If I'm going to stop that, I have to see her again."

Slowly, Dean unlatched Sam's hand from his collar. "We'll go by her place again. After the funeral," he evenly said. "Good enough?"

Sam nodded. Better than nothing.

-

The Deerfield Cemetery wasn't far outside of the town of Tonganoxie. It was just like any other graveyard they'd been in over the years. Nothing special about it. A cold wind swept through the trees, but Dean didn't even notice. He leaned back against the Impala, his arms folded across his chest as he watched the graveside service for Jewel Myers.

He'd never liked funerals. Or cemeteries. It had nothing to do with the job, either. He couldn't understand most people's need to cling to what was dead by visiting a slab of granite jammed into a plot of dirt with a corpse buried under it. Funerals themselves were just as pointless. Anyone who said they found closure because of one was a goddamn liar. If they _did_ find closure, they wouldn't visit a cemetery after the fact.

Sam wasn't sure why Dean wanted to be here for this. He knew how his brother felt about all of it, one of the _few_ things Sam knew how he felt about, strangely enough.

In the distance, a decent number of people had gathered for Jewel's committal to the ground. She'd been popular in life, it showed after death. Intentional or not, her death wasn't fair. She'd worked so hard to get where she wanted to be. Her life had barely begun. Now, here she was, dead at twenty.

He was a mere three years older, but he'd felt old by the time he was ten, anyway. Their father's way of life forced him and Dean to grow up quickly. Too quickly. They'd never truly had anything normal children did, especially not what the Myers' sisters did.

The simple onyx casket, covered in bouquets of flowers, slowly descended into the grave. Gradually, the attendants stopped by Jaina and her mother, offered a few words or a hug before they walked away. Within ten minutes, the only people left at the graveside were Jaina and Mrs. Myers. The girl held her mother in her arms, her gaze cast down at the open grave, which would be filled in later by the groundsmen.

"Dean," Sam quietly said as Dean walked away. "Where -"

"Just stay here," Dean cut in as he kept going. "I'll be right back."

Jaina raised her head as she noticed Dean coming her way. She looked past him, to see the other guy leaned back against the car, waiting. She'd been more than mildly creeped out by him the day before when he returned to the motel room. Just knowing he'd seen Jewel ... die, it was freaky. How did somebody get an ability like that?

"Didn't think I'd see you here," she greeted as Dean stopped a few feet away from her. She looked to her mother, who was seated on the ground now, gazing at the grave. "I'll be right over here, okay, Mom?"

Mrs. Myers, her eyes red and bloodshot, stared at Dean for a second then she focused on Jaina. "I want to stay with Julie ..." The absence of any emotion in her voice suggested to Dean Mrs. Myers had dosed herself pretty good with the sedative today.

"All right, Mom." Once they were out of her mother's earshot, she asked, "Not to sound suspicious, but why are you here?" She shifted her attention to Sam again, who wasn't even looking in their direction at the moment. "And what's _his_ problem? He scared I'll bite him?"

"I told him to stay there," he replied. "And ... I'm here because I wanted to tell you something I didn't get a chance to say yesterday."

She looked at him. "What's that?"

"We couldn't save your sister, and I'm sorry about that." He avoided eye contact with her.

"You don't think that I blame _you_ ..."

"No. I just know how hard it is to protect someone. And when you can't do anything, it's ..."

Her expression became sympathetic. "You feel like you've failed them." She nodded when he finally looked at her. "I know what you mean. I've felt that way the last few days, like I didn't do something." Her lips pressed together. "And if Tabitha really did have something to do with it - "

"We're not sure about that still," he quickly said.

"I've thought about it, too, since yesterday. It's the only thing that makes sense. Just ... how?" She looked beyond Dean to Sam again. "And how did he know what would happen?"

"Hey," Dean sharply said, jabbing a finger in her face. "Sam didn't have anything to do with it, either. He'd never hurt anybody."

"Did I _say_ that?" she defensively snapped.

"Jaina?"

Both looked to Mrs. Myers who was still seated on the ground.

"Just a second, Mom," Jaina calmly said, then she turned to Dean. "I have to go. Thanks, though. For coming. Even if you never did know Jewel, I appreciate the gesture."

"I feel like I do," Dean commented as Jaina started to return to her mother. He paused as she pivoted on a heel. "That's why I promise you'll get some justice for her." He didn't know how, but he would.

She knew that tone of voice, the expression on his face. Suddenly, it made sense to her, why a complete stranger like him would care so much about Jewel. "He's your brother, isn't he?" she softly said, motioning in Sam's direction.

He nodded. At least she hadn't assumed they were gay. They seemed to get that a lot these days. Then again, she probably knew better than anyone who was and wasn't.

She took a few steps towards him. "He younger or older than you?"

"Doesn't look it, but he's younger." Dean managed a smug laugh. "I can still kick his ass, though."

"I was just four minutes older than Jewel," she thoughtfully replied. She tucked her hands into the pockets of the long black dresscoat she wore, then shivered as another cold breeze blew. "Doesn't matter if it's four minutes or four years. I always felt responsible for her. We were together a lot before Junior High. Even though she had friends who didn't like me, I was there for her." Her eyes glistened with tears. "I didn't want her to leave. I knew she'd just be miserable here. Still, it's tough to let go."

Dean remembered when Sam announced he'd earned a full ride to Stanford. The fight between him and their father, it was one of the worst on the books. As far as Dean knew, neither one of them had apologized for half of the shit they'd screamed at each other that day. As much as Dean wanted more for Sam, he was still on their father's side. Not because he particularly needed Sam's help, he just didn't want to be by himself. Though he'd been with John during those years, Dean was essentially _alone_.

Jaina wiped away a stray tear and forced a laugh. "Don't know why I'm telling you all of this." She sniffled. "Not like it changes anything."

"Some people seem to think it helps."

She glanced in Sam's direction, noticing how impatient he appeared. "I think you'd better go." She nodded towards Sam. "And, really, I do appreciate everything you've done." She offered a weak smile, then rejoined her mother.

For a few moments, he simply watched them. They were all each other had left. They deserved more than a lame apology from him where Jewel was concerned.

Sam pushed himself off of the car before Dean could see him leaning against it. "What was that about?" he asked. He watched Dean round the car and open the driver's side door. "Hey."

"Let's pay Miss Priss a visit," he simply replied then got in the car.

-

End Chapter Six


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven 

-

The drive to the Jordan Estate was quiet, even though Sam asked more than once why they'd gone to Jewel's service. By the halfway point, he gave up. It drove him crazy when Dean was like this, which nearly all of the time now.

"Let me handle it," Sam said as they came to a stop by the front doors. He watched Dean slam his hand on the bell then glare at the door with that look on his face. "Did you hear me?"

"You did the talking twice already, Sam. Not doin' a real bang up job of it, either."

"So yelling at her will be a better approach?"

"What makes you think I'm gonna yell?" He hit the doorbell again, harder, then muttered, "Come on, goddamnit."

"Well, I don't know," he sarcastically replied. "Maybe because the way you've been acting since yesterday? Dean, you've already decided she's guilty."

"Two people who pissed her off are dead, that's evidence enough."

Sam was about to say something in Tabitha's defense when the front door finally opened.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Tabitha angrily demanded as she narrowed her eyes at Sam. "Wasn't I clear yesterday I am finished talking to you?" She started to slam the door shut but was surprised by Dean stopping it with his hand. "What do you think you're - "

"We know about Alex Bellamy and Jewel Myers. How you know them." He saw her eyes darken. "The truth. We mean _all_ of it, so you can stop lying to us."

"How dare you insinuate -"

"Tabitha," Sam quickly cut in as he stepped forward. "We're not concerned with whatever secrets you want to keep from the public, or your father."

She tore her glare from Dean and settled it on Sam instead. "If you so much as breathe a word of it to _anyone -_ "

"What, you gonna kill us with your dream powers, too?" Dean asked, almost taunting.

"Dean!" Sam gave him a 'will you shut the hell up?' look then focused on Tabitha. "You have an ability. You might not have realized it, but you do. We _think_ it's connected to dreams," he calmly explained. "It's possible you're responsible for what happened to Jewel and Alex."

She stood there, looking from Sam to Dean several times before she said, "You're saying those dreams I had about them were _real_?"

"Miss Jordan?"

Tabitha leaned back to see Audrey standing not far away. "It's all right. You can go about your duties." Once she was gone, she opened the door a little wider. "Come in." Once they were inside, she closed the door and motioned for them to follow her. "I don't want her to hear this."

"I'll bet you don't," Dean muttered as Tabitha walked down the hall.

"Dean, just ... don't say anything, okay? You're making this more difficult than it already is." He recognized the route Tabitha led them through – it was the way to the converted parlor.

He only stared straight ahead as they followed her into the room.

After she slid the door shut, she let out a breath and turned to face them. "Now ... you said something about an ability?"

Sam pulled out the copy of the Alex Bellamy article and handed it to her. "You said you dreamed about him?" he replied as she cautiously accepted it. "Do you remember what happened?"

She stared at the paper, her eyes only catching specific words - "murdered", "cracked skull", "massive hemorrhaging". "I ..." Her eyes lifted from the paper as she focused on Sam. "Just a little. It was a while ago."

"October before last, maybe? Not long after you ran into him in Lawrence?"

Her brow furrowed. "How do you know about that?"

"Jaina." Dean's eyes narrowed briefly when Tabitha looked at him. "She said you'd threatened him. Said he'd never tell anyone about you. Next day, he turns up dead."

"Did you have a dream about him? After that incident?"

Tabitha paused before she slid her gaze back to Sam. "I don't recall much. Only he'd been struck by a car." She took a seat on the piano bench as she stared down at the paper in her hands. "I was so scared when he was found dead. I ... I didn't think it could've been my dream."

"It wasn't yours, it was _his_," Dean corrected.

She frowned, confused again. "What do you mean?"

"Look," Sam started as he sat on the bench beside her. "We're not sure how it works, but somehow, you're able to make a person's nightmares real."

She laughed a little. "Make it real? You've obviously seen one too many _Nightmare on Elm Street_ movies. Things like that _don't_ happen."

"If I didn't believe in it enough, I wouldn't say it."

Her amusement faded. "How?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

"Whatever your ability, it appears to make the brain unable to discern dream from reality. Without it, if someone were hit by a car in a dream -"

"It would kill him in reality," she breathed, suddenly understanding. Her eyes widened, her face a mix of shock and horror. "Oh, my God." One hand covered her mouth, muffling her whimper. "The dream about Jewel ..."

Sam hesitated before he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

She gazed at the floor, stunned. "Why?" She lifted her head, affixing her eyes on Sam. "Why would this ... demon give me such a power?"

"Maybe because it's a demon and it's _evil_? And it has some kind of plan for you and your screwed up 'power'?" Dean flatly suggested.

Sam shot him a glare. What the hell was his problem? Couldn't he see Tabitha was unnerved enough by what was happening to her?

Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head. "I never wanted to hurt Jewel. I just ... I didn't want her to leave." The tears spilled down her cheeks now and dripped onto her expensive slacks. "What if I hurt someone else? Isn't there a way I can control this?"

Sam glanced at Dean. His brother simply stared at Tabitha with that look on his face. It reminded him of their father. "Others have managed," he said. "We've never encountered an ability like yours, though. It'll take us some time."

"Time to do _what_?"

"We know a lot of people who may be able to help."

She sniffled and wiped away the tears with her fingers. "What do you suggest I do until then? I don't want to accidentally kill another person."

Sam glanced at Dean again, the memories of that horrible nightmare of his resurfacing. "You won't hurt anyone else – I promise."

"You can't promise that!" she declared.

Sam tried to come up with something, anything. Then he recalled the day at Jaina's house, and the effects of the sedative Mrs. Myers was on. "Do you have any sleeping pills? Something prescription-strength?"

She nodded. "Yes. My father, he has Ambien. He's had trouble sleeping for the past year. Stress of the campaign. Why?"

"It should put you into a state of sleep where you won't dream. Hopefully, that will help, until we can find a permanent solution." He paused as he studied her. She was different, she wasn't the, as Dean would put it, stuck up bitch from the day before. She was scared, like Sam thought she would be. She wasn't like Max or Andy's brother at all. "We'll call our contacts. If we're lucky, we'll have something tomorrow."

She nervously bit her lower lip. "Fine, then," she softly replied. As Sam rose to his feet, she suddenly grabbed onto his uncasted wrist with both hands. "No one else knows about it, do they? This ... ability?"

"No one but us." He gestured to Dean.

She let out a sigh of relief. "Good. It's ... difficult enough dealing with one secret. I haven't any idea if I'll be able to handle another alone."

"You're not alone, Tabitha," he assured her.

"Thank you. And I _do_ mean that." She managed a weak smile. "I don't know what I could do for you in return."

Once Tabitha released his arm, Sam motioned for Dean to follow him as he headed for the door. Dean, though, didn't budge.

"I know somethin' you could do," he evenly replied.

Sam stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. What was _this_?

Tabitha tilted her head to one side as she looked at him, curious. "What would that be?"

"After Sam helps you with your problem, you're gonna tell Jaina Myers why her sister is dead." He ignored the look on Sam's face, he just kept his eyes on Tabitha. "That _you're_ responsible."

"Dean -" Sam started as he took a step forward.

"No, Sam. I told that girl she'd get some justice." He shifted his attention back to Tabitha, who wore in indecipherable expression on her own face. "No better way to start than with _you_ telling her the truth." He scoffed. "If you even know _how_ to anymore."

Mouth slightly agape in shock, she stared up at him. However, he didn't stand there long. Her eyes followed him as he left, throwing the sliding door open with one hand on his way out.

Sam turned away from the door to her. She had a completely different expression on her face now. In her eyes. He couldn't figure out exactly what it was. "Forget about him," he said. When she looked to him, he added, "You don't have to worry about that. We'll be back as soon as we have something."

She nodded but didn't utter a single word. Her eyes remained riveted to the doorway, even after Sam had passed through it.

-

"Hey!" Sam yelled as he caught up with Dean, who had just yanked open the driver's side door of the car. Once he reached the passenger's side, he narrowed his eyes. "You want to explain what the hell that was about?" He jerked a thumb towards the Jordan house.

"_She'll_ never see the inside of a jail cell for those two kids." He pointed an accusatory finger at the house behind Sam. "I don't like it, but that's the way it is. She sure as hell ain't skating through the rest of her life without having looked Jaina Myers in the eye and copped to killing her sister." He slipped into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut.

"Dean, you can't -" Sam began as he opened his own door.

"The discussion is _over_, Sam," he coldly replied. He didn't even glance at him, he only started the car. "Get in. We gotta find a way to keep Miss Priss from havin' another 'accident'."

Sam slammed his own door shut once he was inside the car. As Dean pulled away from the house, Sam cast one last look at it. He could see Tabitha Jordan standing at one of the first story windows, gazing out at them with that same blank expression plastered on her face.

-

"Thanks again." Sam sighed as he scratched another name off the list he had on his lap. "That was the last contact I had," he announced as he looked over to Dean. He didn't act like Dean's utter disinterest in the news bugged him, but it did. For the past twenty minutes, Dean had opted to watch a late night rerun of a _MASH_ episode rather than help him. "What about you?"

Dean tossed his own pad of notes at Sam without ever glancing from the television. "That Buddhist priest Dad knew in Colorado said that'd probably work," he blandly replied. He adjusted the pillow behind his head and concentrated on the show. "It's a bunch of meditation rituals."

Sam read through the chicken-scratch Dean called handwriting. After he finished deciphering it, he shrugged. "Best solution I've seen so far. What do you think?"

"I think I'm going to sleep," he said as he flicked off the TV when the credits began to roll. "I'm done screwing around with this crap."

Sam frowned as Dean cut the light on his side of the room, then plopped his pillow over his head. Sighing a little, he went back to his own notes he'd taken. He'd written down everything about the dream-visions, Jewel, Alex, Tabitha, all of it, mostly to keep the story straight for the phone calls. Alex's nightmare was apparently connected to his parents' deaths. Jewel's, he had his suspicions.

He slid his gaze over to Dean. What was bothered Dean so much it turned itself into a possessed version of their own father? It was more than just losing him. And why did it kill him at the end? Whatever the problem, it had him terrified.

-

Sam's eyes flicked open. The first thing he was aware of was the dull ache in his head. The pressure was deeper than before, as if it wasn't on the surface of his mind, but inside somewhere. He stared at the slightly water-stained ceiling before he sat up. Beside him, in the other bed, Dean shifted. Not a lot, just enough to suggest he wasn't having a pleasant dream.

"Dean?" No response. Quickly, he was at Dean's bedside, shaking him. "Wake up!" When he didn't, Sam used both hands to shake him even harder. "Dean!"

He cried out, almost dropping to his knees as a searing pain shot through his head. As both of his hands gripped the sides of it, things started to come together. Somehow, Tabitha was using her ability. Hadn't she done what he'd told her to? Or maybe she had and it didn't work. Either way, Dean was in danger. Sam only had one option open to him.

Fighting against the pain, he snatched Dean's keys from the nightstand then half-staggered out of the motel room. He could hardly slip the key into the ignition once he'd made it into the driver's seat. He prayed he would be able to focus long enough to reach Tabitha's house. He had to get there.

Before it was too late.

-

Dean, shotgun in hand, stood just outside of the open front door of the old house. It was the exact same set up as every other night; except this time, he felt more self-aware. He stared into the darkness, unwilling to step over the threshold – he knew what would happen if he did. He couldn't take that goddamned demon taunting him about Sam while wearing his father's body. Not again. No more.

As he let the gun barrel point at the ground, Dean took a step back. No. Not this time. He would take control. He didn't believe in that destiny bullshit, anyway. Sam would _never _hurt or kill another person on purpose. His little brother just didn't have it in him.

He took another step backwards and had begun to pivot on his heel when a desperate shout stopped him cold.

"DEAN!"

It was Sam's voice, coming from somewhere inside of the house. Slowly, Dean looked over his shoulder to the empty street as a cold wind blew, bending the trees and causing their already dark shadows to dance about on the yard and walk. He waited. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe it wasn't even coming from the house.

"Help me!"

His head snapped around as both hands raised the shotgun. It was definitely real, and it was definitely inside. Without another second of hesitation, he entered the house.

"Sam?" he called out. He glanced around as he drew further into the home. "_Sam_?"

"Dean!"

He turned. Sounded like Sam was upstairs. Once at the staircase, he planted his right foot on the lowest step then looked up. Not even when he was a kid had the staircase seemed so massive. Still, he didn't move. Something wasn't right. It didn't _feel_ like the previous dreams. He was about to retreat when Sam called out again, more desperate than before.

"Please, you have to help me!"

His hands clutched the shotgun as all fear left and determination replaced it. If this wasn't a regular dream, it had to be one controlled by Tabitha. If Sam was there, too, it wasn't good. If Dean hadn't been so damned scared right then, he would've itched to say to him, 'I told you so!'.

He ascended the stairs, taking them two at a time. Once at the top, he froze. From the end of the hall, the same glow illuminated Sam's old room. Instead of the figure standing inside being his father, he recognized it as Sam's more distinctive one.

"Sam?" he asked as he took cautious steps down the hall. His finger wasn't fully curled around the trigger of the gun, but the barrel remained pointed at the floor. When he reached the doorway, he stopped. "Sam?" A moment passed and he came up behind him. "Are you all right?"

"Depends."

Dean raised an eyebrow. Something wasn't right. Sam didn't sound like himself. "Why are you here?"

"You already know." His tone was cold, dark.

"This is a dream, right? And you're stuck in it with me." He waited but Sam didn't answer. "Hey, are you okay, Sammy?"

"I always _hated_ that name. But you don't care. Just do whatever you want, don't you?"

"What's your damn problem?" he snapped, irritated at this sudden pissiness. "Sam?" He grabbed his brother by the shoulder then forced him to turn. "What is _wrong_ with you?" As soon as he saw Sam's face, his hand withdrew. There was a strange gleam in his eyes, one he'd never seen before.

"You screwed up with me," Sam replied as he sadly shook his head. "Now, you have to deal with the consequences."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

A crooked smile appeared on Sam's face. "Never were very quick on the uptake, Dean."

Before he could reply, Dean was thrown backwards by an invisible force. He slammed into the wall so hard, he not only lost his grip on the shot gun, but he had the wind knocked out of him. As he gasped, he realized he was pinned there by the same force. He'd been kicked around enough by telekinetic power to know what it was, though.

"Sam ..." he choked out once he could speak. He winced as Sam carefully approached him. "Why are you actin' like this?"

"I told you – you know."

He shook his head. "This isn't you, Sam. You're possessed or ... or Tabitha's controllin' you. Somehow."

The force seized his entire body again and it tossed him – even harder – against the wall to Sam's left. This time, after he hit, the grip released him and he slid down to the floor. Shaking his head, Dean placed both palms flat on the dusty wood. He blinked several times in an attempt to focus his vision, and he concentrated on keeping his head clear. The familiar, old copper-y taste of blood gathered in his mouth. As he pushed his upper body from the floor, he spat out a mouthful of blood-laced saliva.

-

In the motel room, Dean rolled onto his left side and coughed up blood onto his mattress.

-

Back inside of his mind, he stared, wide-eyed, at the blood. Something was different. It wasn't the same as taking a hit in previous dreams, he could feel its effects – truly _feel_ them. His gaze slid to his left as Sam's boots appeared next to him. As his lifted his head, Sam lowered himself to Dean's level.

"What did she do to you?" he hoarsely asked. The gleam was still in Sam's eyes. He was truly enjoying this.

"She didn't do anything to me. I'm just ... different." He considered it. "No, not different. _Better_. I feel so much better now, Dean." He sighed heavily as he looked around the room. "I'm free. Not a care in the world!"

"You're not Sam. He wouldn't act like this."

Sam leaned forward as he smiled even wider. "Sorry, you're wrong. Want me to show you just how wrong you are?"

"Sam - "

He grabbed Dean by the throat as he rose up to his full height, bringing Dean up with him. Gagging, Dean wrapped both hands around Sam's wrist before he glanced down. He no longer touched the floor, Sam had him suspended with only -one- arm.

"Look at you ... " he scoffed. "You always were _pathetic_, though."

"And you always let your guard down," Dean replied through gritted teeth. Before Sam could react, Dean rammed a knee into his brother's ribs. He gasped loudly as he fell from Sam's grip and leaned against the wall for support. A hand massaged his sore neck as he kept his eyes on Sam who was half-doubled over. "I don't want to hurt you, Sammy, but I -will-."

He laughed. "I'd love to see you try."

In the next instant, Sam was spun almost completely around when Dean's fist struck his left cheek. He managed to hold onto his balance for a second before he finally collapsed onto his hands and knees.

Dean flexed the fingers of his right hand as he looked down on him. "Do or do not, there is no 'try'."

"That's one thing I'm not gonna miss – the annoying movie references."

Before Dean knew what was happening, he was hurled across the room by the telekinetic force again. Sam staggered to his feet, his eyes narrowed at Dean as he dragged the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away the blood. "You just refuse to _die_."

Dean raised his head, his own eyes filled with determination despite how much physical pain he was in currently. "I haven't saved you yet," he stated. He grunted when Sam seized him by the jacket and pulled him nose to nose.

"Save me?" he snorted. "You can't even save yourself."

He summoned all of his strength to smack Sam upside his head. "That's for using a line from a lame-ass song." The next hit was him punching Sam square in the face. "Snap out of it! _This ain't you!_"

Sam didn't even bother to clear away the fresh blood which slid down his neck. He smiled. "You just keep telling yourself that."

-

It was a miracle Jaina had parked the car in the space straight, her head was so hazy. She looked through the windshield, squinting at the window of the motel room she knew Dean and his brother were in. A light was on, but the black Chevy wasn't in sight. As she stepped out of the Corolla, she wavered. A hand went to her forehead as she paused to steady herself.

After Jewel's funeral, she'd bailed from her house. She couldn't take being there. Her mom had zonked herself out with sedatives, so Jaina left in search of anything to take her mind off of the last few days. And people thought alcohol was a bad thing.

She stumbled to the room, not wholly sure why she was even there. After seven or eight beers, she'd decided she didn't need a reason. Also, she had the feeling he wouldn't turn her away if she showed up unannounced. Her hand rested on the door but it wasn't fully closed. It creaked open. Puzzled, she looked inside. Dean lay in one of the beds, the other was empty.

"Hey!" she called out as she entered. No one answered. "Where's what's his face?" she mumbled as she wandered into the bathroom. When she didn't find Sam, she figured he was gone. The car was, too, so he must've taken it.

"Hey, you -" Jaina leaned over as she stopped by the side of Dean's bed. Her eyes narrowed on him. "You asleep?" She shook him with a hand. "Wake up." She stood straight when he rolled onto his back. Blood covered his face and neck. The bed as well. "What the - "

She stumbled backwards until she hit the nightstand. She looked down and noticed a pad of paper with a ton of writing on it. As she picked it up, she squinted at the words. Soon, her eyes focused on names – Tabitha's, Alex's, her sister's. More was there, a lot of it confused her.

"Dream power?" she murmured. After that, the details of Jewel's nightmare were jotted down, as well as some story about Alex Bellamy being hit by a car. Tabitha's name was connected to them both. "The ability to make dreams ... real ..."

Her head lifted when she heard Dean grunt. She watched in wide-eyed shock as he spat up a fresh mouthful of blood. His face twisted up in pain as he rolled onto his side again, muttering underneath his breath. Things clicked in her mind – Tabitha, her sister, the dreams, the nightmare his brother had seen.

The notepad dropped from her hands as she stared at Dean. Whatever Tabitha's "ability" was, she must've been using it. But where was his brother? Did he even know this was happening?

She swayed slightly and bumped into the nightstand again. The rest of Sam's papers fluttered to the floor. The glint of the 9MM she'd seen the day before caught her attention. Slowly, her fingers gripped the handle. She was surprised by its weight when she finally picked it up. She'd never even held a gun before, let alone used one.

Her gaze shifted back to Dean. He was choking now. Whatever was going on in his head, he obviously wasn't winning. She backed away, the gun clutched tightly in both of her hands. No. No one else was going to die. Not if she could help it.

Half-tripping over her own feet, she headed for the door.

-

End Chapter Seven


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight 

-

Sam had barely made it to the Jordan home. For some reason, the pain in his head was double what it was the night Jewel Myers was killed. He wondered if the odd dream-vision he'd experienced the night had anything to do with it. Why would he be that involved with Dean's dream but not the others?

Luckily, he made it to the front doors without falling down. Once there, he slammed a hand on the doorbell then leaned against the house for support. The lock clicked and Audrey, surprised to find Sam there, peered through the crack in the door.

"Are you all right?" She gasped when he pushed the door open and grabbed her by the shoulders. "What are you -"

"Tabitha ... where ... is she?" He closed his eyes, briefly, fighting the pain.

"She's in her room, asleep. Why?"

"Where is it? Her room? I have to ... wake her up." He saw the apprehension in her eyes. "Please, if I don't wake her, my brother's dead."

"I'm sorry, I can't allow you to -"

"They're _both_ in danger ..." He placed one hand to the side of his head. "Remember the night Mrs. Jordan died? Do you remember the thing that killed her?"

Her face paled. "How ... how do you know about -?"

His hand dropped to his side. "I don't have the time to explain. I have to wake Tabitha before she accidentally kills Dean."

Audrey paused, unsure if she should let him near Ms. Jordan in such a state. But he'd known about the demon, no one knew about that. Yet he seemed certain lives were in jeopardy. "Second story. Fifth door on the left," she finally replied.

"Stay here," he ordered as he stumbled past her, towards the flight of stairs Audrey had indicated. He seized the metal banister just as something new happened – an actual vision.

Unlike in the shared dream, Sam saw what was going on through the demon's point of view. So far, Dean was rather banged up, but he was alive. There was time. Time to stop the nightmare from becoming reality. When the vision left him, Sam, still holding onto the rail, practically hauled himself up the rest of the stairs with it.

With the agony he was in, it was difficult to count off how many doors he'd passed. Soon, he found Tabitha's room and half-threw the door open. He squinted as he attempted to see through the darkness. The weak light from the hall wasn't a lot of help, but he eventually located her bed.

It was empty.

"Tabitha!" he called out. His left hand lowered from his forehead as he staggered farther into her room. "It's Sam!"

"I heard you the first time," her voice calmly and evenly replied from elsewhere n the darkened room. "You needn't yell."

Sam squinted again. She was awake? Then what was going on with Dean? And, more importantly, _who_ was doing it? The demon? Or maybe Dean was right all along, it wasn't connected. He shielded his eyes from the sudden burst of light as a lamp on the opposite side of the room flicked on.

Tabitha, dressed in white silk pajamas with a matching robe, reclined in a large chair by the bay window. She appeared unconcerned with the obvious agony he suffered, her tone retained its calm as she continued. "I'm not surprised you're here. He'd told me you would come, once you realized what was going on."

Sam focused on her. "What?" he asked, throughly confused. "Who told you that?" He watched her rise to her feet and come towards him.

"The yellow-eyed demon, the one you said killed my mother," she answered. She slowed to a stop a few feet in front of him. Her head tilted to the left, an expression of pity on her face as she regarded him. "He didn't say it would actually hurt _you_, though. Interesting."

The pain was almost forgotten as Sam processed her words. "You knew about it the entire time? The demon?"

"Yes. He explained everything over the past few weeks. Came to me in my own dreams, told me how very special I am, and that I'm not alone. I belong – _we_ belong to something so much greater." She frowned slightly as he massaged his temples with one of his hands. "Do you see it? What's happening to him? I do."

He stumbled forward, but Tabitha kept him from falling. "You said you couldn't control it," he breathed as he struggled to stay on his own feet.

"I lied," she softly whispered in his ear. "If you hadn't been so gullible, you would've been able to tell." She paused. "Your idiot brother is smarter than you."

His legs finally buckled underneath him. Tabitha kept her hold on him and sank down to her knees along with him. "How are you doing this? You're awake ... "

"He taught me how to control it. Even awake, if the person I want to access is asleep, I'm able to break down the barriers in the mind." She smiled briefly. "With continued practice, the person won't even _need_ to be asleep. Literally scared to death by one's own fears." She studied him. He was half-doubled over now, laying slightly across her lap. "You feel the pain, but you don't see what he does. It's probably better you can't. You wouldn't be able to handle it, the thing he's most frightened of ... "

"Don't do this, Tabitha," Sam begged. The pain was so consistent, he'd become used to it. His concern for Dean helped to override it, too, but not enough to fully focus. He didn't _want_ to hurt her. What if he punched her out and it didn't do anything? If she was awake, he could try to talk her out of making another mistake. He lifted his head. "You shouldn't listen to that demon, it's evil."

"_Evil_?" she repeated, her eyebrows lifting in amusement. "The one person to ever accept me for who I truly am without any judgment?" She smiled. "How is that 'evil'?"

"It's making you into a murderer."

"They kill themselves," she casually explained. "Their own deep-seated fears and psychological quandaries, their darkest secrets ... it isn't me, it's _them_."

"_You're_ responsible for it being real. Don't ruin your life."

"My life was ruined years ago, when I realized I wasn't the kind of daughter my father wanted," she angrily growled as she grabbed him by the back of the neck. Her fingernails dug into his skin as she leaned closer to him. "I was terrified my father would find out I was different. I surrendered my own identity to make him happy. I wanted Juilliard, he wanted law school. I wanted to go out of state, he wanted me close to home."

"He's your father. Don't you trust him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt?"

She used both hands to pull Sam up by the jacket, so he looked her in the eyes. "He would've _disowned_ me," she snapped. "I would've been alone. He's all I have, and I refuse to risk it. You haven't any idea what it's like to be me, how _dare_ you judge me?"

In that moment, he felt sorry for her. She was filled with an awful fear which came out as rage. The demon used it against her, to trick her into believing whatever it said. The same way her power tricked a person's mind into believing nightmares were real.

"What did it say that convinced you this is right?"

The pity in his voice was an insult. She leaned closer. "He showed me my true nature," she hissed. "And it's the same as _yours_."

-

Dean laid flat on his back as he stared at the ceiling. Each breath was harder to take than the last. His right side was on fire, a sign if his ribs weren't broken, they were bruised fairly badly. Blood trailed down his temple from a gash above his left eye and over his ear. He spat out another mouthful of saliva and blood then ran his tongue over his teeth. He wasn't sure if one was cracked or if he'd lost it completely. Nevertheless, it hurt like hell.

He'd tried to tell himself none of it was real, it was only a dream. Apparently, Tabitha's ability didn't allow _that_ little trick make any difference. He was still getting his ass handed to him. In his own defense, he'd held back. If it was Sam, he didn't want to hurt him. Too much. The uncertainty kept him from going on the offensive.

Sam loomed over Dean with a haughty smirk on his face. Even though Dean had restrained himself, he hadn't pulled every punch, so Sam had his fair share of injuries. He dropped down to one knee as he grabbed Dean by the shirt.

"This is almost too easy," he stated, disappointed. "I'd expected more from you. Maybe _you're_ the bitch, Dean, not me."

He chuckled, wincing at the pain when it shot through his side. "Aw, Sammy, don't make me get up and _really _kick your ass." He watched Sam reach behind himself then produce a 9MM. His 9MM. "What's that for? Think you're gonna scare me?"

"No." He pulled out the clip, so Dean knew it was actually loaded, then he jammed it back into the weapon. "I'm giving you the chance to live through this. You sacrificed so much of yourself already to play Mommy and Daddy to me. I owe you that, at least."

"You don't owe me nothin'."

Sam sighed as he took Dean's right wrist into his free hand, then pressed the gun handle into his open palm with the other. "It wouldn't feel right if I didn't." He turned the gun so its barrel pointed directly at his own heart. "Do it. Kill me."

"I won't."

That only made him angry. "I said, 'kill me', goddamnit!" he yelled as he squeezed Dean's wrist with both hands. "You know what Dad would say if he saw this?" He leaned over, his voice dropping to a disgusted whisper, "You're weak, that's what." He shoved the barrel deeper into his chest. "So do it!"

It was hard for Dean to fight back the tears. He was mentally and physically exhausted. Had he truly failed? Or was it all a dream? Even if it was, could he chance pulling the trigger, possibly killing Sam in the real world, just to save himself? _Would_ he?

Sam shifted the barrel so it was buried underneath his own chin. "One last chance, big brother. Do what you have to, or you're going to die."

"No," he hoarsely replied, shaking his head.

"Pull the trigger!"

"_NO!_"

"DO IT!"

"Shut up! Just ... _shut the fuck up_! I'm not gonna shoot you!"

"Don't shoot me, _kill_ me!" He used his own thumb to cock the hammer. "Do it, or you're dead."

"Sam, I know the real you is in there ... _somewhere_." Dean winced as Sam's grip on his arm strengthened.

He laughed. "I have serious respect for your ability to believe in me." He let go of Dean's wrist to use both hands to seize Dean by the back of the neck and pull him closer. "But you're gonna have to accept the fact I'm just as evil as every other demon we've met." His fingers tightened around Dean's throat. "This _is _the real me."

If Dean didn't fight back, he'd certainly die. Where would that leave Sam? If this was real, what would Sam do when he woke up in the morning and realized what had happened? Nobody else gave a shit. The only person who did was getting the goddamn life choked out of him. Real or not, he couldn't stand to watch Sam turn into somebody he wasn't.

His hand squeezed the handle of the 9MM, a new strength building as he formed a plan in his head. With a force he didn't know he was even capable of, he clocked Sam straight in the face with his fist, the gun adding an extra bit of power. It startled and dazed Sam enough for Dean to slip away from him. Gasping for air the entire time, he'd barely made it a foot before Sam full-on tackled him to the floor.

"I'm done playing games," Sam snarled as he tried to use a knee to pin Dean down. He was knocked backwards by another fierce backhand and landed hard on his left side, holding his face with both hands. "_Fuck_ ... I think you broke my nose!"

Dean, on his knees, breathing heavily, half-glared at Sam as he writhed on the floor. He threw the gun aside as he spat out another bit of blood-laced saliva.

"I'm gonna bring you back, Sammy," he matter-of-factly said. "Even if I gotta beat the shit out of you to do it."

-

Sam's eyes opened as the brief vision of what was happening to Dean released him. He couldn't figure out why the nightmare was different, why Dean fought with a possessed version of _him_. That wasn't the same dream he'd claimed to have had the previous nights, the one he'd witnessed himself. Was it Tabitha's doing?

He realized he lay on his side, on the girl's bedroom floor. She was kneeled beside him, a sympathetic expression on her face as she gazed upon him.

"It's difficult for him," she quietly said. She tilted her head to one side as Sam attempted to respond. "I'm sorry it came to this, Sam. He left me with no other choice. I can't do what he wants. I won't. It wasn't my fault."

"Please ..." He managed to grab hold of her robe. "He's all I have left ..."

She leaned forward, smiling pleasantly as she rested a hand on his face. "No, he's not," she assured him. "You have so much more. It will be over soon. None of them last long when they face their deepest fears." Her smile faded. "We're our own worst enemies."

The click of a gun made them look to the open bedroom door. Jaina, tears in her eyes, gripped the 9MM with both hands as she shakily aimed at Tabitha. "I wouldn't be so sure about that, bitch," she growled.

"Jaina," Sam, after a struggle, sat up as straight as he could and focused on the other girl. As she became more clear, he noted it was _Dean's_ gun she pointed at them.

"I know what's goin' on!" she shouted as the tears spilled down her cheeks. She took a few steps towards them, her gaze flicking between Sam and Tabitha. "About the dreams and the powers and that _she's_ the reason Jewel's dead!"

Once she was a few feet away, Sam saw the glint of fresh blood on the barrel of the gun. "Jaina ... whose's blood is that?"

"The bitch downstairs," she snapped. She saw the look on his face. "I didn't kill her." The gun shifted so it pointed directly at Tabitha's forehead. "She's the one I want to get even with." Her trembling index finger hovered over the trigger. "So don't get in my way, I don't want to hurt you."

Sam forced himself to his feet. The ache in his head caused him to briefly waver before he found his balance. "Jaina, don't do this." He motioned to Tabitha who was still on the floor, just behind him. "You don't understand what's happening - "

"I understand enough!" she snapped as her hands quivered even more. "What she did to Julie, what she's doing to _your_ brother! I was at the motel, he's coughing up blood everywhere." She shook her head a little as she looked to Sam. "Don't you even _care_?"

He held up his hands in a non-threatening manner as he slowly approached her. "Yes, but this isn't the way to help him."

"How can you say that? He's _dying_!"

"Jaina - " Sam abruptly stopped when she swiveled the gun so it pointed straight at his chest.

"Get out of my way! I told you, I don't _want_ to hurt you!"

"Just put the gun down -"

"If you won't stop her, I will!"

"You're not thinking straight. You're sad and angry." He winced as the pain in his head sharpened. Dammit, he didn't need this, not now. He concentrated on the girl with the gun. "Believe me, I understand."

Fresh tears slid down Jaina's face and dropped noiselessly onto the thick carpet. She gazed at Sam, almost baffled. "How can you protect her when she's trying to kill him?" she incredulously asked.

Tabitha smugly smiled as she coolly replied, "Because he's like me. We're different than the rest of you." She slowly rose to her feet. "Special. Important. You will never _truly_ understand how much, either."

Jaina's lower lip trembled as she looked back to Sam. "What kind of brother _are_ you?"

Tabitha's smile turned more sinister as she said, "One who's about to become an only child."

As soon as she spoke the words, the debilitating pain hit Sam so suddenly, he grabbed the side of his head and almost fell to his knees as another vision came.

"I gave you the chance to get out of this!" he heard his own voice shout.

"For a college boy, you're pretty goddamn stupid, Sam!"

When Dean's fist connected with his face in the vision, Sam's legs buckled underneath him and he collapsed onto the floor. The sudden movement startled Jaina and Tabitha used the distraction as an opportunity to pounce.

Jaina saw Tabitha coming towards her. Then, without even thinking or taking aim, she fired. Tabitha's head whipped back smartly as a light pink mist spurted from the right side. Almost in slow motion, she stumbled backwards and fell onto her bed. She lay there, motionless.

Once it was over, Same pushed himself off of the floor. He blinked several times. The pain, along with the visions, had vanished. When he raised his head, he found Jaina standing beside him, her wide-eyed, shocked gaze locked on something behind him.

"Jaina?" he asked as he sat back on his heels.

"I ... I didn't mean to ..." she whispered. The gun fell from her hands and landed with a soft thud on the carpet. Her gaze shifted to Sam. "I didn't mean to ... I didn't want to ... kill her ..."

Sam turned. Tabitha lay flat on her back in the middle of her own bed, her arms spread out almost perfectly at her sides. How she'd managed to fall in such a position, it was eerie. "Oh ... no."

In a matter of seconds, he was kneeled on the bed beside her still body. The blood was minimal and concentrated on the right side of her head. From what he could tell, the bullet had grazed her skull on the inside but didn't do too much damage. Carefully, he placed his fingers to her neck – she had a pulse. It was weak, but she had one.

Jaina stumbled back until she hit the far wall, near the bedroom door. She slid down it until she was in a seated position on the floor. "I'm sorry ... " she whispered.

"Tabitha?" Sam used one of the pillowcases to ease the slight bleeding. The shot was one in a million. He could only call her not being dead a "miracle".

"Ms. Jordan?" Audrey staggered into the bedroom, a hand pressed to a nasty gash above her left eye. The result of Jaina pistol-whipping her, no doubt. She gasped in horror when realized what had happened. "Oh, my God ... "

"Call the paramedics!" Sam ordered as he glanced over his shoulder. "She needs a hospital – now!"

Her hand over her mouth, Audrey simply nodded then retreated down the hall to the nearest phone.

Sam could hear her frantically speaking to the 911 dispatcher. The police would be there soon, too. If ... _when_ they found out who he was - He shook it off. He wouldn't worry about it until he was forced to. He had more important tasks at hand.

"Jaina?" He glanced at the girl, who sat trembling in the corner. When he was sure he'd handled Tabitha to the best of his ability, he went to her. "Jaina?" he asked again as he knelt in front of her. "Are you all right?"

Her head lifted, her bloodshot and tear-filled eyes struggled to focus on him. Everything was hazy. "I didn't mean to ... " she hoarsely replied.

He couldn't help but feel sympathetic towards her. She was a completely different girl than the one he'd met at the Myers' home. She was as much a victim as everyone else involved. Tabitha included. His hands rested on her shoulders. "I know," he quietly said.

Part of him believed her. She just didn't seem like the type to kill someone, no matter how questionable her past. The other part, though, felt otherwise. He never believed Dean had it in him, either, until he actually saw it with his own eyes.

"I didn't want this ..." The tears slid down her cheeks. She looked up at him, a recognizable sadness and confusion within her eyes now. "Why did Julie have to die?"

Sam wished he had an answer. Not just for her, but for everyone else he and Dean met who'd lost someone because of the demon or any other supernatural killer they hunted. He tried not to think about it. If he did, he'd have probably gone crazy long ago. Times like these, he regretted he wasn't more like Dean – disassociated.

His gaze shifted to Tabitha and wondered if she'd succeeded. Or if Jaina's lucky shot managed to spare Dean. Spare _him_. He wasn't quite sure what he'd do if Dean wasn't around. It was another thing he tried not to think about.

The sounds of distant sirens brought him out of his thoughts. He only hoped he would be able to find out. Soon.

-

In the motel room, Dean groaned heavily as his eyes slowly opened. He stared at the wall for a second before he realized he wasn't in the old house anymore. It was over – he was awake. He'd survived. He shifted and cursed under his breath as every part of his body screamed in pain. _Barely_.

"Sam?" he called out. He closed his eyes until the pain in his side dulled. "Sammy?"

Using what little strength he had left, he forced himself to sit up. As he did so, his hands planted into a wet spot on the mattress. He looked down. Blood. Then he noticed it was all over his own face and neck. A hand gently touched a spot on his forehead – a gash. Every injury he'd sustained in the nightmare was real.

"Sam?" He shifted his gaze to his brother's bed. He wasn't there, either. A cool breeze drew Dean's attention to the slightly open door. From his position, he could see his car was gone, too. "Shit ..."

He thought back to the nightmare. Before all went black, he and Sam were in a hellacious fight for the 9MM. The last thing he'd heard was it firing off a single round. Then he was awake. Obviously, he'd not taken the hit. He could only assume it was Sam. Or what _appeared_ to be Sam.

He tried to get out of bed but a horrible, searing pain shot through his side and he landed hard on his knees on the floor. Gritting his teeth, his hands clutched the nightstand for balance.

"Goddamnit," he hissed as his right side throbbed and a wave of dizziness washed over him.

Once it passed, that's when he noticed his gun was gone. Pain forgotten, he threw the rest of the papers aside in a frantic search for it. Even after going through the mess on the floor, no joy.

"Where the - " An awful thought struck him. "Ah, Sam," he sighed as he hit the side of the stand with his fist. "Tell me you didn't ... "

-

End Chapter Eight


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Oh dear God, people, I am **_SO_ SORRY** it took this long for the last chapter. Way back in May, I had an accident at work which left me without the use of my right hand for almost two months. Then I had problems reworking the ending so ... Yes, excuses are bad! Again, I apologize so profusely!

-

Chapter 9

-

Dean shut off the faucet and lifted his head. He almost didn't recognize himself in the bathroom mirror. A hand brushed the piece of gauze taped over his left eye – it'd finally stopped bleeding. Good. He wanted to avoid stitches, if possible. He preferred to keep his scars in the inside, where they couldn't be seen.

It'd been an awfully long morning. He glanced over his shoulder, using the mirror. He couldn't see Sam but Dean knew he was in the motel room. The local morning newscast was on. They'd all picked up the Tabitha Jordan shooting. Typical. It becomes more important than another girl's vicious murder when money was involved.

His gaze dropped to the white basin which was stained a weak pink with streaks of his own blood. He figured Sam wasn't handling the incident well. When he'd shown at the room a few hours earlier, he looked almost as bad as Dean did. Not physically but something had significantly mentally bitchslapped him.

He could still see the blank expression on Sam's face, the 9MM hanging loosely in the fingers of his right hand and that ... sadness in his eyes. He didn't need to ask, he knew then Sam hadn't done anything monumentally stupid to save him. "Monumentally stupid" was _his_ deal. Still, when he learned Jaina was behind it, Dean felt responsible. He never should've showed her that gun. Yet, deep down, he knew if he hadn't, he probably wouldn't be alive now. Sam just didn't have it in him to kill anyone else, no matter what.

He shifted his attention to his reflection, and hiis mind flashed back to the nightmare. Sam, or what he _thought_ was Sam, had offered him the opportunity to kill him. More like _forcing_ him, but it made little difference. He couldn't even do it in a dream. What bugged him even more was the fact the nightmare was so different than the previous ones.

He'd thought it was Tabitha's doing, but after Sam told him Tabitha said people didn't last long against their greatest fears, he wasn't certain anymore. Somewhere, in the darkest corners of his own mind, did he actually believe Sam could become the sadistic bastard from his nightmare? If he did, what the hell was he fighting for?

His eyes closed as he bowed his head. Images from the nightmare flowed through his mind like a slideshow. Just seeing it again, the look in Sam's eyes, it disturbed him. Maybe Sam _was _capable. Then, Dean didn't think he was himself until he was forced into the situation. But that was purely survival. For Sam, in the nightmare, it wasn't about survival – it was _fun_ for him.

Dean's eyes opened and he stared at the faint streaks of blood in the sink again. His mind drifted back to the last discussion he'd had with their father. 'There's something you need to know ...'

"Dean?"

Startled, but not showing it, Dean straightened as he looked in the mirror. Sam leaned through the doorway, that expression of half-concern/half-guilt on his face. "What is it?" he grumbled.

Sam's fingers nervously drummed against the wall for a few seconds then he replied, "We should really get moving."

"Why? We on the news or something?"

He shook his head. "No. It doesn't mean we won't be eventually."

Earlier that morning, when Audrey discovered exactly whom Sam was, she'd promised to keep it out of the press and away from Mr. Jordan as well. Also, with her help, Sam avoided dealing with the local police when they'd arrived. She'd basically shoved him out of the back door, without even a simple 'thank you'. Not that he'd expected one. It still would've been nice.

He wished he could've at least claimed her discretion was a gesture of gratitude. No, she made it abundantly clear a man like Steven Jordan and his daughter couldn't be linked in any way to "people like _them_". Either way, it didn't guarantee Jaina's or Mrs. Myers's silence, so the quicker they left town, the better.

Dean turned to face Sam. "What're they saying on the news?"

"Nothing much." Sam looked away. "They haven't released Jaina's name as the shooter." He knew how much the Jaina aspect bothered Dean. He kept running through the scene at Tabitha's house in his own head, trying to figure out if there was anything he could've done himself to have saved both girls. It was pointless pondering, he knew. Didn't stop him from doing it, though.

Dean nodded as he dried his hands on a nearby towel. "What do you think will happen?" He paused then focused on Sam's profile. "Think they'll cut her any slack?"

"I don't know," he honestly replied, shrugging. "They may take the alcohol and her grief into account ... but she already has a juvenile record for aggravated assault, Dean. Then there's the fact the father of the girl she shot is a powerful lawyer." He saw the expression on Dean's face then sighed, "I wish I could tell you a different story. It just doesn't look good for her at all."

Tossing the towel into the sink, Dean let out a heavy breath. "Well ... guess we can't do anything else here. We'd better hit the road."

Sam stared at Dean as Dean turned his back to him, to rinse the blood out of the sink, more than slightly gobsmacked by the reply. "You're not the _least_ bit curious about Tabitha?"

Dean kept his head down, noting the tone in Sam's voice. His brother was trying not to be pissed at him, but was failing. "She was shot in the head. How could she be?" he flatly asked.

"She's in a coma. Her doctors aren't optimistic about her chances of waking up."

"Is that a _bad_ thing, Sam?" He looked at Sam via the mirror, just in time to see Sam's eyes narrow at him. "With an ability like hers, with as friggin' whacked out as she'd got, how long would it have taken her to move up to 'mass murderer'? Not very."

"You'd write her off? Just like that?" He snapped his fingers.

"What the hell else should I do?"

Sam's eyes narrowed again. "You're a real jackass sometimes," he snapped, then vanished from the bathroom doorway.

"_Hey!_" Dean followed, grabbed him by the shoulder and half-whirled him around to face him. "What's your problem? What's with this pissy second grader crap?"

Sam scoffed. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Dean let him go. "In case you've forgotten in the last three hours, that bitch tried to kill me. So forgive me if I don't shed a tear for her or her current situation."

"Who's being the pissy second grader now?" Sam snorted. He shook his head. "Just ... never mind." He waved a dismissive hand as he went to his bed to pick up the last duffel bag in the room. "You don't understand. You don't _want_ to understand. Let's go, all right?"

"Why in the hell I _shouldn't_ be relieved some twisted chick isn't gonna hurt another innocent person? _You're_ the one who likes to talk about every goddamn thing." He blocked Sam's path to the open motel room door. "Come on, man. Tell me."

After a moment, Sam threw the bag onto the floor between them. "All she cared about was what her father thought," he evenly said. "So scared that if he found she was different, and I don't mean like me, he would shut her out."

"And that gives her the right to _kill_ innocent people? Come on, Sam!"

"No."

"Sounds like what you're sayin'."

"You know that's not what I meant. Didn't you look at it from her point of view?"

Dean only stared at him, unflinching.

"Do you ever look at the world from _any_ point of view except your _own_?" Sam added, a bit more bitterly.

"We're not talking about Tabitha Jordan anymore, are we?"

Sam simply shook his head as he picked up the bag again. When he tried to pass Dean, his brother blocked his path. And kept doing so until he gave up.

"_Are we_?" Dean repeated, his eyes narrowing a little. He shoved Sam back when he attempted to go around him once more. "Where're you goin'?"

"Don't start," Sam warned, his tone cool this time.

"It's already started. What, do you _still_ think I didn't give a damn back then? When you wanted to ditch us and do your college thing?" He paused as Sam averted his gaze. "You're talkin' about everyone else's point of view – what about Dad's? What about _mine_?"

"Dean - "

"Oh, no. This's been lurkin' around long enough, we're gonna get it cleared up right now."

He finally looked Dean in the eye. "All right. You want to clear some things up? Fine." He dropped the bag on the floor. "Let's. The dream you had last night was different." He saw the expression on Dean's face change. "I've been thinking on it for most of the morning and I can't come up with a decent explanation of _why_." Now it was Dean's turn to look away. "Why was it different? The first one was about the demon, that one was about me. What changed?" He waited a few seconds, then asked, almost demanded, "Are you hiding something from me? I swear, if I find out you are -"

"I don't know why it changed!" he angrily cut in. He still avoided looking Sam in the eye, though.

Sam studied him closely. "Tabitha said people never lasted long against their deepest fears." He paused, hoping Dean would stop lying to him for five minutes. "Why are you so scared I'll become ... _that_?"

"It was a goddamn dream, Sam. It doesn't mean anything," he shortly replied as he finally looked at him. "Just drop it." He saw Sam start to say something else. "I'm serious - drop it."

The following uncomfortable silence was interrupted by Dean's phone. After staring at Sam for two more "rings", he yanked it from his jacket pocket. "It's Ellen." One more "ring", he answered, "Yeah?"

"Nice way to answer your phone," came Ellen's voice from the other end. "Where are you two?"

"Still in Kansas." He glanced at Sam. "Why?"

"This Jordan shooting is all over the national news," she answered. "I suggest you boys high-tail it outta there quick." Her tone became less harsh. "What the hell happened, Dean?"

Dean bowed his head, finding the tops of his boots interesting as he considered his response. "I screwed up," he quietly said.

There was a pause on her end. "Just get out of town, all right?" she gently replied. "Small town like that, won't take long until somebody starts remembering strangers. You've got enough heat on you as it is. The both of you boys."

Massaging his temples with the fingers of his free hand, he sighed heavily as he nodded. "Thanks for the concern, Ellen."

"Not like you'll stop doin' things for anyone to _get_ concerned about ..."

He smiled faintly, said goodbye and lowered the phone. "Ellen says it's all over the national news. We should get out while we still can." He finally looked at Sam again. "No tellin' when our names'll pop up, like I'm sure they will." He'd been glad for the interruption, as well as the excuse to drop the argument with Sam. Any longer, he might've let something slip.

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a nod. Whatever problems he and Dean still had, it'd have to wait for another day. That would work for him. "You want me to drive?" he asked as they left the motel room. Dean looked at him as though he were nuts. He shrugged then tossed the bag into the trunk and closed it. "Sorry. Thought I'd offer, considering what you've been through in the past 24 hours ..."

"Well, you can quit thinkin'," Dean replied as they both got in the car. "I've been through worse. I don't need you tryin' to baby me."

"Kind of hard to resist the urge when you act like one." He smiled slightly when Dean glared at him.

"Real funny," he flatly replied, an unamused expression on his face. He turned the Impala's engine over. At the same time, the tape deck kicked on and blared loudly.

"Exit light ...  
Enter night ...  
Take my hand ...  
We're off to never-"

Dean's open palm slammed against the dashboard, making Sam jump a little. Immediately after it ejected, the tape was thrown over Dean's shoulder, onto the backseat.

Stunned and confused by Dean's violent response to the music, Sam glanced at the Metallica cassette tape teetering precariously on the edge of the seat, then asked, "What the hell's your problem?"

His eyes narrowed after he'd backed out of the parking space. He shifted the car into 'drive' and slid his gaze to Sam. "I _hate_ that song," he muttered. When Sam made a move to change the radio station, he snapped, "Leave it."

"You took the wrong turn  
At the city of dreams  
You ended up back where  
You came from, it seems ..."

"I thought you _hated_ E.L.O.?" Sam replied, his hand backing away from the dash.

"Back there to where  
There's nothing else to do  
Back there to where you can sit  
And think of only you ...

Cry, baby, cry ...  
Tell me 'bout your lonesome lullaby ..."

Dean glanced at him again, frowning even more. "It's an E.L.O. kind of day."

"How's that?"

"It sucks."

With that, Dean's foot hit the gas, he pulled onto the two lane highway and they headed away from Tonganoxie. Away from Kansas. He never wanted to see this goddamned place ever again.

-

The images flashed through his mind, almost like those on a television when someone is channel-surfing. Or the picture goes in and out, in a desperate attempt to 'tune' into a particular frequency. Also, they were muddled and made absolutely no sense to him. Glimpses of places he'd never been, people he'd never met, the sounds of songs and voices he'd never heard.

Until one of them came across clearly ...

He recognized the room immediately - the converted parlor at the Jordan home. At the piano, sat Tabitha. He wasn't in there physically, he could tell. Still, he seemed to approach her from behind. She never faltered in her playing or made any movement suggesting he was a presence she could sense. The tune was familiar. The lullaby, so melancholy.

The image fluttered. When it became clear again, Tabitha's playing came to a halt. Her head raised as she sat straight on the bench. Ever so slightly, she looked over her shoulder.

"You should be more careful when you dream ..." The young woman turned fully, looking directly at him. She bore no malice in her expression or gesture. Once again, the image flickered and was less clear when it steadied. "You never know who may be watching you ..."

-

Sam awoke with a start. After a few seconds he realized it'd only been a dream – not a vision – he'd had of Tabitha Jordan. Rubbing the fingers of his good hand over his eyes, he struggled to sit up straight in passenger's seat. Outside of the window, the landscape, considerably more engaging than that of Kansas, whisked past. Probably Pennsylvania, by the look of it.

They were headed to their next job. It'd taken some convincing on his part but Sam managed to talk Dean into taking a break after what happened. Their "vacation" lasted almost a grand total of eight days. After nearly two weeks of no work, Dean declared he'd had enough and took on the first thing he could find.

"You all right?"

Sam glanced when Dean's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "I'm fine."

"Another nightmare-vision ... thing?"

A hand rubbed against his right temple, his eyes closing at the same time. "No."

Dean eyed him. "You lyin' to me?"

Sam's hand dropped into his lap as he looked over to him, slightly annoyed. "No, I'm not. Nothing out of the ordinary about it. Just a bad dream."

He gave his brother another suspicious glance. "You _sure_ you're not lyin'?"

"Dean, nothing happened. I was asleep, I woke up. What, am I not allowed to do that anymore?"

"All right, all right."

However, Dean wasn't so sure. Even though Tabitha's fancy doctors were almost certain she'd never regain consciousness, he was still scared to sleep at night. Or during the day. He'd never tell Sam – or anyone else – that, either.

Fact was, they didn't know the range or details of the girl's ability. She'd been trained in controlling it by that yellow-eyed bastard. An already accomplished liar, who knew what the hell else she'd kept from them? If she managed to get inside his head again, he might not be so lucky the next time.

"You'd tell me, right?"

"Huh?" Sam turned away from the window again, curious. "Tell you what?"

"If something was up with that chick?"

He hesitated. Not long enough for Dean to notice, but just long enough for Sam to wonder if he truly _would_. He worried about how Dean would "handle" the situation should it arise. "Everything's fine. It was just a bad dream, that's all," he assured him.

'You should be more careful when you dream ...' Tabitha's warning resonated through his mind. 'You never know who may be watching you ...'

-

End.

(Or is it?)


End file.
